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Unexpected Bride
Lisa Childs
Always A Bridesmaid?Only her best friend's impending nuptials could bring Abby Hamilton back to her Michigan hometown. But when the bride runs away, the wedding reception turns into an unexpected homecoming party for Cloverville's Prodigal Daughter. Everyone's happy to see Abby…except Clayton McClintock, the bride's straight-arrow older brother–and Abby's unrequited crush.Where Abby goes, trouble seems to follow. But Clayton has to admit the adult Abby is very different from the rebellious eighteen-year-old who left without a backward glance. She runs a successful business and is a single mother to an adorable four-year-old who is quickly stealing Clayton's heart.Suddenly a man with no intention of settling down is thinking about making a home and a family–with Abby. If he can get the marriage-shy single mother to the altar…



Unexpected Bride
Lisa Childs


With great appreciation to Jennifer Green for
encouraging me to write a Harlequin American
Romance proposal, and to Kathleen Scheibling for
accepting that proposal for THE WEDDING PARTY
series, and to all the brides who included me in their
wedding parties.

Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Epilogue

Chapter One
Clayton McClintock pressed his cell phone to his ear. “I’m going to be late,” he told his date, as he studied the flight schedule posted in the terminal. All the flights were on time but one. Hers. It figured. Conversation swirled around him as people rushed through the arrival gates and met those waiting for them in the lounge area.
On his phone there was dead silence. He pulled the cell from his ear to study its small screen, but his call hadn’t been lost. “Ellen, are you there?” he asked.
“Yes,” was the reply, in a tone of long-suffering patience, followed by a sigh reminiscent of the dramatic ones his sisters had subjected him to in their teens. “This isn’t working, Clayton. You stand me up more often than you see me.”
He sighed, too—with frustration. “Things have been crazy with my sister’s wedding stuff.” Writing checks, that had been his primary duty. And then he’d been pressed into playing chauffeur. Everyone else was busy with the rehearsal this afternoon.
He glanced at his watch. If Abby’s flight was any later, they’d miss dinner as well as the activities at the church. His plan had been to pick up his date after the rehearsal and bring her with him to the dinner. This wasn’t the first time he’d had to set aside his own plans for the sake of his family, though.
“Things have been crazy,” Ellen agreed. “And your brother…”
Rory, who was in his teens, was going through a difficult time right now, also reminding Clayton of her. But she was hardly a teenager anymore. People grew up and matured—probably even Abby Hamilton. Clayton had to believe that Rory would do the same, provided his big brother didn’t kill him first.
“It’s always something with your family, Clayton,” Ellen said. “You never have time for me.”
He couldn’t argue with her. He didn’t have time for himself, either. Not with his job and his brother and sisters and his mom. How had his dad managed everything? Clayton had taken over family responsibilities eight years ago, and he had yet to figure out how to handle everything his father had managed so effortlessly. He lifted a hand and wiped it over his eyes. He was tired.
“I’ve known for some time that it wasn’t going to work out, Clayton. So don’t bother calling me anymore.”
“My sister’s getting married tomorrow.” That would take care of one responsibility. “Things will get better then.”
“How? Is she taking your mom and sister and brother with her? You don’t have room in your life for me or for any woman, Clayton. I’m sorry.”
The phone clicked and the call ended, not because of a faulty connection but because of a lack of a romantic connection. And except for going stag to the rehearsal dinner and the wedding, he wasn’t even too upset. Clayton hadn’t dated anyone long enough to say that he’d ever had a serious relationship. He blew out a ragged breath of relief. He didn’t want a serious relationship because it was just one more responsibility he didn’t need.
Waiting in an airport for Abby was bad enough. How like her to fly in at the last moment. Some bridesmaid she’d turned out to be. Fortunately Molly had asked her longtime friend, Brenna Kelly, to be maid of honor. Clayton couldn’t imagine Abby handling the responsibilities.
He headed over to the airport coffee shop and filled a disposable cup with strong black brew. When he passed his money to the clerk, he ignored her flirty smile and bright eyes. Maybe he’d stop dating for a while—it wasn’t as if he ever intended to get married, anyway. He’d leave that to Molly, Colleen and Rory. Heck, he wouldn’t even mind if his mom got married again. It was already eight years since his dad had died.
The same length of time Abby Hamilton had been gone. She’d taken off right after the funeral, even skipping her high school graduation. Not that she’d have been able to graduate with her class, since she’d just been expelled. If Clayton didn’t get a handle on Rory soon, the youngest McClintock would probably be heading down that same dead end.
What was she doing now? His sisters and mom kept in touch with her, but they didn’t tell him much. They knew how he felt. The last he’d heard, she was moving around, working temp jobs, which didn’t surprise him. Nothing had ever seemed to hold her interest for long.
“Flight 3459 is arriving at Gate B4.”
The announcement startled him and his hand jerked, spilling coffee over his fingers and burning them. Abby was back. Clayton’s stomach lurched, maybe from the bitter liquid, or maybe because he knew that Abby Hamilton had always been nothing but trouble. She might be older now, and maybe even wiser, but he doubted she had changed that much.
He stared over the heads of other people gathered who waited to meet the late arrivals. They greeted each other with exuberant hugs and voices full of excitement. Somehow he doubted Abby would be that happy to see him—she had no idea he’d been called into service as her chauffeur.
He glanced in the direction of the approaching passengers. Where was she? Everyone moved toward the luggage carousel, its gears grinding as it began a slow rotation. Then metal clunked and the bags began to drop onto the carousel. Clayton ran his hand, which still stung from the coffee burn, across his face. Somehow the ground crew had gotten the luggage off the plane before she’d disembarked. Now, there was no hope of their making the rehearsal. He’d have to push her, in order to make the dinner.
So she hadn’t changed. He caught sight of her, finally, first spotting her fair hair as she strolled into view behind a group of stragglers pushing strollers. Until the others moved toward their luggage, he could barely see her. She probably wasn’t much over five feet tall. As she got closer, he studied her face, which was framed by a wild mass of curls. Her eyes shone a bright, clear blue between thick fringes of black lashes.
Clayton’s gaze traveled down her body, clad in a ribbed white tank top and tight faded jeans. His stomach lurched again. Abby was still going to be trouble; probably much more trouble as a woman than she’d been as a kid.
Then he noticed that her right hand was wrapped around another smaller hand. At her side walked a little girl of about four or five. With her own blond curls and those same bright eyes, she was the spitting image of her mother. His breath left his lungs as the shock slammed through him.
No one had told him that Abby Hamilton had a child.
Abby glanced around the airport, looking for Molly or Colleen or Brenna, and then her gaze collided with Clayton McClintock’s. His chocolate-brown eyes were wide with surprise. He rubbed a hand over his eyes as if he didn’t believe what he was seeing. Then the hand skimmed down his face, over sharp cheekbones and a square jaw. He didn’t look much different at thirty than he had at twenty-two, except that he wasn’t boyishly thin anymore. His black knit polo shirt strained across his chest and upper arms, and stone-colored khakis encased his long legs. Clayton McClintock was all man now.
Abby exhaled deeply, stirring her bangs so that strands of hair tangled in her lashes. “Oh, no…”
“What’s wrong, Mommy?” her daughter asked as she gave her mother a tug.
Abby’s feet stopped moving—she didn’t want to get any closer to Clayton. No one had told him about Lara. While Abby appreciated her friends’ loyalty, she wouldn’t have minded if they’d broken their promise not to tell anyone in Cloverville about her daughter. Why had she made them pledge their silence in the first place? She wasn’t ashamed of being a single mom. But a part of her was still eighteen, hurting from the disapproval of the townspeople. And no one in Cloverville had disapproved of her more than Clayton.
If only she’d worn one of her tailored business suits instead of her most casual outfit, but now it was too late to change either her clothes or Clayton’s opinion of her.
He walked toward them, eating up the short distance with just a couple of strides. “Abby.”
She drew in a breath and then pasted on a smile. “Clayton.”
“It’s been a long time,” he said, his gaze hard as he stared at her.
Not long enough. He obviously didn’t want her back in Cloverville any more than she wanted to be back.
Then his head dipped, and his gaze softened on her little girl. His throat moved as he swallowed, and then he asked, “So who’s this pretty young lady?”
“My daughter.”
“I can tell,” he said, his lips curving into a warm smile that etched creases into his cheeks.
Abby’s pulse quickened. She couldn’t remember if she’d ever seen him smile before. Lara, however, was more frightened than charmed and ducked behind her mother’s legs, grasping Abby’s hand tightly with one hand as she clutched a well-loved teddy bear with the other.
“You don’t have to be scared,” she assured her daughter, even though she’d spent much of her childhood fearing her friends’ older brother. But she’d grown up many, many years ago—she’d had no choice. “Clayton isn’t a stranger. I’ve known him a long time. Well, I knew him a long time ago.”
“I knew your mother when she was your age,” Clayton said as he dropped to his haunches, his slacks pulled taut across muscular thighs. “You look exactly like she did the first time she followed my sister Molly home.”
Like a stray dog. That was how he’d always seen her. But then he hadn’t been all that wrong. She used to come to the McClintock house with her clothes dirty, her knees scraped and her stomach growling with hunger. And his mom had always cleaned her up and fed her. Mrs. Mick, as Abby had always called her, had been more of a mother to Abby than her own sad excuse for a mother had been. Mom had spent more time in the bar than at home, and Abby’s dad had always been gone because he drove a semitruck for a living.
“What’s your name?” he asked the child.
The small girl whispered her response. “Lara.”
“Lara?” Clayton glanced up at Abby.
She nodded, then confirmed what he had to be thinking. “Lara Hamilton.”
He straightened up. “So you’re not married.”
“Nope. The closest I’m getting to an altar is Molly’s wedding tomorrow.” The one reason she had come back to Cloverville: she was going to watch her friend make the biggest mistake of her life, unless somehow she could manage to talk Molly out of it. If not for all the projects Abby had had going on in the past couple of months, she would have come back to Cloverville much sooner. She hoped she had enough time to talk Molly out of the wedding. “I’m sorry you were sent to get me, Clayton. I thought one of the others…”
“They’re already at the rehearsal.”
She glanced at her watch, then closed her eyes. “We’re late.”
He probably held her responsible for the computer problems at O’Hare that had delayed their flight. She blamed herself, too, for not coming in earlier. But Clayton was one of the reasons she hadn’t wanted to come back to Cloverville at all. No matter what she’d accomplished since she’d left, everyone here—and especially Clayton—would always see her as the poor, screwed-up Hamilton kid who’d been failing high school even before she’d been expelled for malicious mischief and vandalism.
“Is it too late for me to be the flower girl, Mommy?” Lara asked.
Abby’s lids lifted, her gaze on her daughter’s concerned expression. Lara had been looking forward to her “job” in Molly’s wedding, and she’d be disappointed if Abby convinced her friend to cancel.
Clayton turned back to Lara, too, offering reassurance before her mother had a chance to speak. “No, honey, the wedding is tomorrow, and you’re going to be the most beautiful flower girl Cloverville has ever seen.” He closed one dark eye in a wink, his lashes brushing his cheek.
Abby’s heart fluttered. It had to be an aftereffect of flying. Not that she was an anxious flyer. Nope, the nerves were because she was here, less than an hour away from the Cloverville city limits.
“But we do need to get to the rehearsal,” Clayton continued. “So we know what to do tomorrow. And after the rehearsal, we’re having dinner at Mr. and Mrs. Kelly’s. They own the bakery and they always have lots of goodies around, including the best cookies in the world.”
Lara tugged on Abby’s hand. “Can I have a cookie, Mommy?”
Abby nodded. Even though it would be awfully close to Lara’s bedtime when the rehearsal concluded, if it wasn’t finished already, sugar didn’t affect Lara as it did her mother.
“I’ll get your bags and we’ll be on our way,” Clayton said as he headed toward the carousel.
Abby rushed after him, pulling Lara along with her. She didn’t want to accept his help. She really should have rented a car, but Brenna Kelly, the maid of honor and one of Abby’s oldest and closest friends, had insisted that it would be easier and faster for someone to pick her up from the airport. “I’ll get my own bags, Clayton. You don’t know what my suitcases look like.”
“I imagine they’re the only ones that are left,” he said with a smug smile, turning toward the conveyor.
Abby clenched her free hand into a fist and wished she had something to whip at the back of his head. Clayton McClintock had always irritated the heck out of her, with his smug I-have-everything-under-control personality. Why had her friends sent him to get the two of them? Just how crazy had this wedding made everyone?
“He’s nice, Mommy.”
Clayton McClintock was a lot of things. Judgmental, humorless and uptight. But he was not nice. While all the other McClintocks had always accepted her as one of the family, Clayton made her feel as if she didn’t belong.
Then again, she really hadn’t. But most of the time when she was growing up, she’d had no place else to go.
“Mommy?”
She blinked, then gazed down at Lara. “What, honey?”
“Don’t you like Clayton?”
She turned to watch him lift their suitcases from the carousel, his impressive biceps straining his shirtsleeves. Then she lied to her daughter for the first time in her life. “Sure I do.”
Clayton stood only a few feet away. Despite the grinding of the conveyor belt, he heard her and smothered a laugh. Abby had never liked him, which was fine with him. She’d been such a brat in her day. Her daughter might look exactly like her, but apparently she acted nothing like the wild child her mother had been.
“I wouldn’t let them leave again,” a male voice commented near Clayton’s shoulder.
He glanced over at a gray-haired man who was standing beside him. “Excuse me?”
“Your wife and daughter,” the older man said, gesturing toward Abby and Lara. “I flew in from Chicago with them.”
Clayton’s mouth went dry, too dry for him to respond and correct the misconception. His wife and daughter? He’d never take a wife, never have children of his own. That was one plan he didn’t intend to let his family change.
“Despite the computer problems at the airport, they stayed so sweet and patient. They’re beautiful,” the stranger continued. “You’re a lucky man.”
Clayton simply nodded, not wasting any time with explanations. They were already late. After the rehearsal dinner he would dump Abby, her daughter and suitcases at his mother’s house, and his responsibilities to her would be over.

“SLOW DOWN, CLAYTON,” Abby said. Sun-streaked fields and dappled woods whipped past the windows of the hybrid SUV. She turned toward the backseat, where Lara’s head bobbed in her sleep with each bump in the road. Less than a foot of console separated Abby from Clayton’s broad shoulder. His jaw was rigidly set as he stared straight ahead at the road leading into Cloverville.
He hadn’t even heard her request. She reached over and touched his thigh. Muscles flexed beneath her fingers and the SUV surged forward as his foot pressed harder on the accelerator.
“Clayton, slow down!” she whispered, not wanting to wake her daughter, even though Lara could sleep anywhere and through anything.
“Grabbing my leg isn’t going to slow me down,” he said tersly, as he eased off the gas. “It’s actually a good way to wind up in the ditch.”
Fingers tingling, Abby snatched back her hand and knotted her fingers in her lap. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you, but you didn’t hear me.”
“Telling me to slow down?” he said. “I thought you were kidding, considering the way you drive. You thrive on speed.”
“I used to,” she admitted. Although speed had had little to do with her poor driving. Undiagnosed attention deficit disorder had been the real reason for her erratic youthful driving—that and bad brakes.
“Did having a kid finally settle you down?”
Diet and exercise had gotten the ADD under control, but nothing had affected her as much as becoming a mother. “Yes,” she agreed.
“Responsibility will do that to you,” he said, his voice thick with bitterness.
She’d always figured that after he’d mourned the loss of his father, he’d enjoyed stepping into the patriarch’s shoes and taking control of his family. Even before his dad had gotten sick, Clayton had bossed his younger siblings and Abby around so much that they’d all looked forward to his leaving for college.
Maybe his bitterness was because he’d never gotten over his father’s death. It had affected all their lives so much. “Clayton…”
He turned his head slightly, his gaze skimming over her. The tingling spread from her fingertips throughout her body in reaction to that look. What the heck was that about? He’d never looked at her like that when they were younger, when she’d secretly wished he would; wished that he’d return from college and notice that she was all grown up.
“What?” he asked when she remained silent with remembered self-disgust. In the end, she’d actually missed him when he’d gone away to college. She doubted he’d missed her at all these past eight years.
She expelled a soft, shaky sigh. “So are you speeding to the church?”
He shook his head. “When I went to get the car, I called Brenna’s cell. Reverend Howland had another commitment and couldn’t wait any longer, so they had to rehearse without the missing members of the party.”
“Us,” she acknowledged, bracing herself for his accusatory stare. He’d always blamed her for any trouble his sisters had gotten into. Like the tattoos, for instance. But in Abby’s opinion, this wedding was the most trouble Molly had ever gotten into, and she wanted to get her out.
“We weren’t the only ones who missed the rehearsal,” Clayton admitted. “Neither the best man nor Eric was there.”
“Eric.” Eric South been the lone male member of a group of friends that included Abby, Brenna Kelly, Molly and Molly’s sister, Colleen, who was a few years younger than the classmates. “I hope he makes it to the dinner.” He could help Abby talk Molly out of marrying a stranger.
“I hope we do,” Clayton muttered as he pressed down on the accelerator.
Abby lifted her hand from her lap but stopped herself from reaching across the console again. “I’m surprised an insurance agent would drive so fast. I remember the lecture about driving responsibly that Mr. Mick gave me when I got my license.”
“You listened?” he asked, sounding surprised. Probably remembering his father’s patented lecture himself, he slowed down.
“Since you run the agency now, do you give the safe-driving speech, too?” she asked.
He nodded. “At the high school and the office.”
Just as his father had done. Had Clayton chosen to be an insurance agent or had he just assumed the job when he’d taken over his father’s business after he died? She couldn’t ask something so personal. They weren’t friends nor were they ever likely to be.
“The Kellys always make plenty of food.” She doubted that had changed. “Why are you in such a hurry to get back to Cloverville? Do you have to pick up a date for the dinner?”
Under his breath, he muttered, “Not anymore.”
Her lips twitched into a smile. Apparently even the Clayton McClintocks of the world got dumped. “Then you just don’t want to be alone with me.”
He didn’t deny her assumption. “How long are you planning on staying?”
Obviously he didn’t want her in Cloverville any more than she wanted to be back. Since he’d slowed down, the scenery enveloped them. Fields and woods, trees thick with green leaves gave way to subdivisions crowded with new houses, streets lined with strip malls, box stores and fast-food restaurants. “This is Cloverville?”
“It’s grown since you’ve been away. Did you think it would stay the same?”
She shook her head. “Nothing stays the same.” She’d learned that at a young age. Sadly enough, so had Lara—it was time for Abby to put down roots for the two of them. To give her daughter a home they would live in for more than a year or two. Time to establish permanent headquarters for the temporary employment agency Abby owned. Abby had already given up her apartment in Chicago. She’d been so busy packing that she couldn’t fly in sooner. Now she just had to decide on where she and her daughter would settle.
It was only the two of them. The moment Abby had gotten pregnant Lara’s father had wanted nothing to do with either of them. Almost five years later, the hurt had faded, but she couldn’t fathom how she’d been so wrong about him. She’d thought he’d been such a nice, responsible guy, but maybe it wasn’t his fault he couldn’t love her. Her own parents hadn’t.
Clayton turned the SUV onto Main Street, where nothing had changed. Mrs. Hild’s Cape Cod still crowded the corner lot, her prize roses climbing over the carved wooden sign denoting the Cloverville city limits. In the middle of the block was Mr. Carpenter’s hardware store, the windows ablaze with the reflection of the setting sun. They also passed the McClintock Insurance Agency, the same gold logo on the front door as the one embroidered on Clayton’s shirt. The three-story redbrick building that housed the agency was one of the biggest on the block, taller and wider than the diner and pharmacy flanking it. A For Lease sign had been posted in the window of the first-floor office next to the insurance agency.
“Dr. Strover moved?” she asked.
“He retired,” Clayton said. “So I’m looking for a new tenant.”
Clayton’s dad had owned the building, and now it was Clayton’s responsibility—like so many others he’d taken on at twenty-two years of age. The same age Abby had been when she became a mother.
“I was hoping Josh would put his practice there, but his partner thought they needed more space. They’re putting up a new building on the west side of Cloverville, closer to Grand Rapids and the hospitals.”
“Josh?” she asked, not following his conversation, probably because she was so surprised he was making the effort to talk to her. Eight years ago, except for one night, he’d never bothered to say much of anything to her other than an occasional curt, “Don’t you have a home?”
She hadn’t then. Or now. She glanced into the backseat where Lara still slept peacefully, her curls tangled around her face. Love filled Abby’s heart. Until she’d had her baby, she’d never known how much love one could feel.
“Dr. Josh Towers is the man Molly’s marrying tomorrow. I thought you and my sister kept in close contact,” he said with a hint of his old disapproval. As if he didn’t understand why Molly would want to remain in contact with her. “You don’t know the name of her fiancé?”
“Molly and I talk every day either by phone or e-mail.” And she’d hardly mentioned her fiancé. Of course, Molly had only just gotten engaged—to a man she obviously didn’t love. Not that Abby knew anything about love except what she felt for her daughter. “Don’t you think it’s too soon?”
“What?”
“The wedding. They hardly know each other.”
The muscles in his arm rippled as he gripped the steering wheel. “Since her first year of college, Molly has worked summers at the hospital where he’s on staff. She’s known him a long time.”
“No, she hasn’t. They’ve only just started dating.” Frustration churned Abby’s stomach. She’d tried to talk to Molly, tried to convince her to wait before she leaped into something as serious as marriage. Molly wasn’t the type to act impetuously—she’d always been as responsible as her older brother. “I thought you, of all people, would be against this shotgun wedding.”
“It’s hardly that.”
“You’ve always been so practical, so…”
“Boring?” he finished for her, a muscle jumping in his jaw. He knew how she’d seen him in the past, and he could only imagine what she thought of him now since she’d lived in big cities and he’d stayed here. In Cloverville. Not that he cared what she thought of him. His concern was for Molly. Abby couldn’t be right about the wedding. Molly was too smart, too responsible to act as impulsively as Abby always had.
“Judgmental,” she answered.
The comment stung, even though it shouldn’t have, even though he knew she was only trying to get a rise out of him, just as she always had. No matter how hard he’d tried, she’d made it impossible for him to ignore her.
“I’m judgmental? Really?” he challenged her, then pointed out, “I haven’t said anything about…” He lifted his gaze to the rearview mirror, which reflected back the image of her daughter. Damn, she was a cute kid, just like her mother had been.
A breath hissed out of her with an offended whisper. “Clayton!”
He didn’t care that she was a single mother. Despite her accusation, he didn’t judge anyone. But he really wanted to know why she was a single mother. Had she decided to raise her daughter alone or hadn’t she had a choice? Had she turned down the father’s offer of marriage, turned off the idea from the poor example her parents had set for her? Or had the guy taken off on her? “Why aren’t you married, Abby?”
She snorted. “I should have known you were just acting back at the airport, when you were being nice to Lara. You’re still a judgmental jerk.”
Instead of anger, amusement coursed through him. She remained a combination of sass and attitude. He could see her turning down marriage, determined to maintain her independence. He persisted. “Why aren’t you married?”
“None of your damned business, Clayton.”
She was right. Her life was none of his business, but he wanted to know about Lara’s father. He could imagine the kind of guys Abby dated: wild, irresponsible, exciting. His guts twisted into knots at the thought of Abby in some other guy’s arms, in some other guy’s bed, naked…
He tapped the brakes on his thoughts and the SUV slowed almost to a stop at the entrance to Cloverville Park. “Look there, Abby. Not everything’s changed. They still haven’t managed to fix the colonel.”
Her head turned to where the bronze statue of the town founder, Civil War hero Colonel Clover, stood among the ornamental trees and flowers. His hat was dented, his left ear mangled, his neck at an odd angle with a crude welding job only just holding his head in place, as well as his arms and legs. Her breath hissed out again. “Can’t the damn town hire someone to fix him properly? It’s been eight years.”
Eight years since she’d been expelled from high school for vandalizing the town park by plowing her car across it and knocking over Colonel Clover. She’d been lucky to come out of the crash without even a scratch. His younger sister, Colleen, who’d been in the car, too, had been hurt however. Her face had been cut by the broken windshield and her ribs bruised.
The harsh words he’d said to Abby that night rolled through his mind. “Troublemaker” had been the nicest thing he’d called her. God, if Colleen had been hurt any worse…With his father dying, his family hadn’t been able to handle any more tragedy.
He glanced to the backseat, to the little girl who was dependent on Abby alone. Poor kid. That was what his father had called Abby, when he’d told Clayton to go easy on her, to give her a chance since she was a remarkable young lady. That was one of the last things his father had ever said to him, because he’d died just a few days later.
Clayton blinked. He should have listened to his dad and been easier on her then. She’d only been a kid. Now, sitting next to him, staring wide-eyed at the park, she didn’t look a lot older despite the eight years that had passed and motherhood.
“I guess it’s true what they say,” Abby said, her voice soft. “You can’t come home again.”
When she turned to him, her blue eyes bright with unshed tears, his guts twisted with regret over how she’d left town, and with anxiety over her return. Although Abby Hamilton had grown up, he had no doubt she would still cause trouble.
For him.

Chapter Two
Abby leaned into the backseat, brushing the tangle of damp curls from Lara’s sleeping face before unclasping her safety belt. Strong hands gripped Abby’s waist, the heat of his palms burning through the thin cotton of her tank top. Her heart jumped. Startled, she lifted her head, smacking it against the roof as he gently tugged her out of the doorway.
“I’ll get her,” Clayton said, pushing Abby aside.
Some things never changed. She brushed a hand over her scalp, checking for a bump as she glared at him. But he’d already turned away to lift out her daughter, settling her sleeping head against his broad shoulder. Abby’s heart shifted again at how right Clayton looked with a child in his arms. Her child.
“You’re going to hurt yourself lifting her. She’s nearly as big as you are,” he murmured, staring over Lara’s head at Abby. “You never grew.”
Maybe not physically. But emotionally she had. She knew better than to ever expect a man such as Clayton to be interested in her. She didn’t attract the responsible kind. She only attracted the ones who wanted to use her, not love her. But then, maybe the men weren’t the problem. If her parents were any indication, she was simply unlovable.
“Abby!” a voice squealed as a group of women rushed off the wide front porch of the Kellys’ Victorian. The yellow structure, with its brightly painted teal-and-purple trim, resembled the gingerbread houses the Kelly family baked for their customers every Christmas.
The trio of women enveloped Abby, their voices raised with excitement. She’d always had that effect on Brenna Kelly and Clayton’s two sisters. Molly and Colleen had been studious and mature beyond their years until Abby had arrived on the scene with her boundless energy and enthusiasm. While Clayton had worried about her influence on his siblings, his father had said they needed her to lift their spirits and show them how to have fun. Dad had even gone so far as to suggest that Clayton could benefit from her company, too. But Clayton didn’t need any more responsibilities.
Roused by the babble of voices, Lara opened her eyes, blinking her long, thick lashes before gazing blearily up at Clayton. He tensed, expecting a fearful outburst of tears. After all, he was a stranger, and the little girl had been shy back at the airport. But her rosebud lips formed themselves into a smile, and she settled against his shoulder with a contented sigh. His heart clenched, as if someone had just wrapped a small hand around it.
“If Mom gets a load of you like that, you’re in trouble,” Colleen teased, her brown eyes alight with mischief as she stepped back from the huddle around Abby and stared at him.
“For what?” Abby asked, her brow puckered in confusion as her attention shifted back to Clayton and her daughter.
“For hogging her baby,” Molly said, reaching out to run her fingers gently over Lara’s head. “Hello, sweetheart,” she murmured.
Colleen’s mouth lifted in a wide smile. “Mom’s been nagging Clayton for grandchildren. If she sees him looking so natural with a child in his arms…”
“I like kids,” Clayton assured the women and the little girl who stared up at him again, her blue eyes wide with interest in the conversation. “Other people’s kids.”
“You obviously haven’t met Josh’s twins yet,” Colleen murmured with a weary sigh.
“They’re good boys,” Brenna said, the redhead jumping to the defense of the groom’s children while Molly remained silent, her face pale and unreadable.
Was Abby right? Had Molly accepted this proposal too soon? Clayton needed to get his sister alone for a serious conversation. Since she’d come home from med school just two short weeks ago, he hadn’t had many opportunities to talk to her. At the time he’d thought she was simply busy with wedding plans, but now he suspected Molly might have been avoiding him.
She turned, leading the way across the lawn and back toward the front porch. “We’ve been holding dinner for you,” she said over her shoulder as she climbed the wide steps.
“I’m sorry we missed the rehearsal,” Abby apologized to her friends. “I should have taken an earlier flight.”
“You couldn’t predict the delays at O’Hare,” Brenna insisted.
Abby laughed, the musical tinkle raising the hairs on Clayton’s arms. “This isn’t my first trip,” she said, refusing to relinquish responsibility. “I should have factored in the possibilities of technical difficulties.”
The old man had spoken the truth at the airport. Regret, over misjudging her, knotted Clayton’s stomach. She hadn’t caused problems on purpose. This time.
“Is the rest of the wedding party here?” Abby asked.
Molly shook her head, tumbling her brown curls around her shoulders. “Eric…left me a voice mail. He can’t come.”
“Tonight?” Abby sighed. “Well, I’ll get to talk to him tomorrow. We can catch up then.”
“He’s not coming tomorrow, either,” Molly said, her voice ragged with emotion.
“Is he okay?” Clayton asked, lost in the conversation as significant looks passed between the four women. He’d never had friends as close as they were. Their mastery of silent communication with mere glances had always frustrated him. He’d felt left out. Despite being only a few years older than most of them, he didn’t fit in. He’d never known how to have fun the way they did.
“Eric’s okay,” Brenna answered. “Can you fill in for him tomorrow and walk Abby down the aisle?”
Abby’s breath caught at the idea of walking down an aisle with Clayton. She shook her head, puzzled by the flash of panic she’d felt. She didn’t intend to marry anyone, ever, and risk a situation like the one her parents had known. “That isn’t necessary.”
She hoped there wouldn’t even be a wedding. From the tight expression leeching the color from Molly’s beautiful face, Abby knew she was right—that going through with this wedding would be the only mistake Molly McClintock had ever made. Not counting the tattoo, of course, but Abby had talked her into that. This mistake Abby needed to talk her out of.
“You can’t walk down the aisle by yourself, when everyone else will have a partner,” Brenna insisted. “It wouldn’t look right.”
Abby was used to not “looking” right. She reminded them, “Clayton has another, more important responsibility. He’s giving away the bride.”
Judging by the gleam in his dark eyes, she suspected he couldn’t wait to carry out that particular role. Maybe he thought Molly’s marriage would lessen the family pressure on him to reproduce.
Disappointment tugged at her heart. She’d thought Clayton one of the few selfless people she knew, but she shouldn’t be surprised that she’d misjudged a man. She’d done the same with Lara’s father, thinking him a man she could trust, and being proven wrong.
With a steady job and a serious demeanor, he’d reminded her of Clayton. Unlike the oldest McClintock sibling, Jeff had refused to take on any responsibility. He’d even refused to believe that Lara was his and that the contraceptive had failed. But Abby wasn’t like her mother. She didn’t sleep around, and she’d actually thought she’d loved him until he let her down—like everyone else. She didn’t know which of them was the bigger fool—Jeff for failing her and Lara, or Abby for trusting him in the first place.
“Clayton can walk down the aisle with you and give away the bride,” Mrs. McClintock said, as if she’d been listening all along, rather than jumping into the conversation as the group joined her in the kitchen of the Kelly house.
“So how was your trip, honey?” she asked Abby, setting down a bowl of salad and enveloping her in a hug.
Abby stretched her arms around Mrs. McClintock’s back, holding tight to the older woman’s softness and warmth. The mingled scents of vanilla and cinnamon clung to the woman’s shoulder-length brown hair. She probably dyed it now, as she had not even a strand of gray, and this woman had earned more gray hairs than anyone Abby knew. She’d survived the loss of her beloved husband and the raising of four headstrong children. Abby’s heart stretched with admiration and love for the woman she’d always wished had been her mother, too.
Nearly choked with emotion, Abby managed to say, “The flight was fine.”
And the flight, although late, had been fine. The ride to Cloverville, thanks to Clayton, had not. At least he’d answered the question she’d carried with her for the past eight years. He would never let her forget about the screwed-up girl she’d once been. In his eyes, at least, she would always be the legendary troublemaker from Cloverville.
Mrs. McClintock released Abby, to reach for Lara and take the drowsy child from Clayton’s arms. “Oh, she’s gotten so big since the last time I was in Chicago. She looks more and more like you every time I see her.”
Every time she saw her. Molly wasn’t the only family member Clayton intended to get alone for a conversation. Why had his mother never told him about Abby’s daughter?
More importantly, why did his arms feel so empty right now without Lara? He drew in a deep breath, catching a whiff of grilling beef through the open patio doors. Mr. Kelly was as renowned for his barbecuing as his baking, but Clayton’s hunger barely stirred. Abby Hamilton had been back in town for little more than an hour and already he’d lost his appetite.
He glanced over at her, grudgingly appreciative of how her curves filled out the white tank top and tight jeans. Her friends were all in casual dresses because of the rehearsal, but here she was, still dressed like a teenager. A damned sexy one, he had to acknowledge. Apparently he’d only lost his appetite for food.
But more than her body drew his interest. Her face softened with affection as she gazed at his mom and her daughter. Her expression of love touched something deep in his chest, bringing about another kind of longing—one he had no business feeling.
“Clayton, where’s Erin?” his mother asked.
“Erin?” he repeated, distracted.
“She means Ellen,” Colleen said. Even outside the agency, she sometimes acted like her brother’s office manager. “Weren’t you bringing her tonight?”
“She couldn’t make it.”
“A lot of people couldn’t make it tonight,” Brenna noted, as she picked up tongs to finish tossing the salad greens. The maid of honor’s voice deepened with frustration when she added, “Even the best man didn’t show up. It’s going to be pure chaos tomorrow.”
Despite her friend’s concern, Abby smiled. They had always considered Brenna the mother of the group. She liked being in control almost as much as Clayton did, which was why she’d already taken over and expanded her parents’ bakery. Abby had occasionally wondered why Clayton had never gotten together with the voluptuous redhead, since they had so much in common. But he’d always treated Brenna simply as if she were one of his sisters. Maybe it was because she shared the same Irish and Italian heritage the McClintocks had. Or maybe it was because Clayton had approved of Brenna, whereas he’d never approved of Abby.
Eight years had passed, and she didn’t seek his approval anymore—his or anyone else’s in Cloverville. She’d only come back for Molly’s wedding. The bride-to-be slid her arm around Abby’s waist. “So you’re not the only one who won’t know what she’s doing tomorrow,” Molly teased.
Abby bit her tongue, holding back her comments about Molly not knowing what she was doing, either. Along with learning how to manage her ADD, she’d acquired some tact over the years. If only she could remember those lessons around Clayton….
But he distracted her. “I’m going to join the guys outside,” he said as he stepped through the open doorway, obviously anxious to escape her presence.
Lara, however, wasn’t eager to let him go. She wriggled out of Mrs. McClintock’s arms. “Can I go, too, Mommy?” she asked. When Abby reluctantly offered a nod, the child ran out after him, reaching for Clayton’s hand as two boys about her age ran up to them. They were dark-haired, blue-eyed miniatures of the man who stood beside Mr. Kelly at the grill. But Lara was obviously not charmed by their cuteness, and she clung to Clayton until the twins ran off across the backyard.
“Clayton has a fan,” his mother said, grinning as she picked up the salad bowl and joined the others on the patio, leaving Molly, Brenna, Colleen and Abby alone in the kitchen.
A wide smile spread across Colleen’s face. “This is so great. We’re all here together again.”
“Except for one of us.” Molly reminded her younger sister of Eric’s absence.
Abby had a pretty good idea about why Eric had backed out of being a groomsman. She imagined he would still probably rather be Molly’s groom. Apparently a lot of things hadn’t changed.
“It’s so great to have you home, Abby,” Colleen exclaimed, throwing her arms around Abby’s neck.
Despite her concern over the impending marriage, Abby’s heart swelled with happiness. She patted Colleen’s back. “Hey, it’s not like you guys haven’t seen me in years. You’ve visited me. Not often enough,” she playfully observed, “but at least you’ve visited.”
“It’s not the same as having you here,” Colleen insisted. “Now that you’ve given up your place in Chicago, you need to move back to Cloverville. You can open the third branch of Temps to Go here.”
The request wasn’t exactly new. Abby had fielded it repeatedly in phone calls, letters and e-mails. She’d never been able to make Colleen understand that, to her, Cloverville could never be home. So instead of arguing, she changed the subject. “Brenna, did you hire any strippers for tonight?”
Colleen’s thin body shook with laughter. With her graceful build and gorgeous face, the girl could have been a supermodel rather than an office manager. But like her big brother, she might have assumed her career out of a sense of obligation. Or guilt—as Abby well knew.
Regret dimmed Abby’s happiness as she considered the part she’d played in Colleen’s guilt. Maybe Clayton was right. Maybe she had caused too much trouble in the McClintock household.
“Strippers?” Colleen shook her head. “You haven’t met the groom yet. No stripper could measure up to him.”
“We’re not having strippers,” Brenna insisted, her expression strained. Not that she would disapprove of strippers—Brenna Kelly was no prude. Was she stressed with her responsibilities as maid of honor? From the long-distance conversations she’d had over the past few weeks, Abby suspected Brenna had more interest in planning the wedding than the bride had. And maybe more interest in the groom.
“It looks like dinner’s ready,” the redhead murmured as she stepped outside to join the others on the patio.
“Come on,” Colleen pleaded with her sister. “You can share Josh with us for one night. You’re going to have him for the rest of your life.”
What little color there had been in Molly’s face drained away, leaving her skin almost translucent.
“The thought of spending the rest of my life with one particular someone would give me the willies, too,” Abby admitted. Not that anyone would want her forever. Even her own parents hadn’t wanted her.
Molly shook her head. “No, it’s just that…”
“What?” Abby persisted, hoping Molly would finally admit to her doubts.
But the brunette laughed. “I haven’t even seen him naked yet.”
Colleen sighed. “What a waste. But at least Clayton will be happy you saved yourself for marriage.”
Abby suspected that her friend had waited to make love to Josh for a reason other than her big brother’s approval. Molly didn’t love her groom. And if she couldn’t sleep with him, she certainly couldn’t marry him.

MOLLY’S DARK EYES welled with tears, summoning every protective instinct Clayton possessed. What had Abby said to her? They’d only been alone together in the house for a few moments.
He asked his brother Rory to entertain Lara and went over to Molly. “Honey, are you okay?” he asked, using the same tone he had with Lara. His sister seemed as vulnerable and afraid as Abby’s daughter had when she’d met him at the airport. Yet Molly had always been the strongest of his three siblings.
What had Abby said to her? He turned his attention from his sister to the blond troublemaker, and although she never slowed her conversation with his mother and Mrs. Kelly, Abby met his stare and then closed one eye in an audacious wink.
Molly laughed, even as the tears shimmered on her lashes. “Nothing much has changed between the two of you,” she commented.
“What do you mean?” There had never been anything between the two of them but animosity.
“You can’t keep your eyes off each other.”
Clayton’s pulse quickened. Did Abby watch him in the way that he watched her? “I’m just making sure she’s not starting trouble again.”
“Isn’t that excuse getting old, Clayton?”
Maybe it was. But he wasn’t about to admit his attraction to Abby, not even to himself. Nothing could come of it. Abby hadn’t been able to wait to leave Cloverville, and there was no way she was staying now. And even if she did, he wasn’t interested.
“Look at you, Mol. You’re crying. She’s only been back a little while and she upset you.”
“These aren’t those kind of tears,” Molly insisted.
“You’re happy?”
Her gaze slid away from his. “I’m happy Abby’s back home, where she belongs. I hope she stays.”
Clayton’s stomach dropped. He hoped she didn’t. He didn’t know how long he could deny the attraction. “Are you happy about tomorrow?” he asked. “About getting married?”
Molly gestured, hand shaking, toward where the groom-to-be stood near the grill, a twin on each arm, like matching blue-eyed, dark-haired bookends. “He’s a great guy. Successful, handsome, generous and a wonderful father.”
But did she love him? Hell, what did Clayton know about love? Only that it could hurt so much he didn’t intend to learn any more about it than he already knew. He’d seen his mother’s devastation when his father died, and he didn’t intend to risk that kind of pain himself. It was better to feel nothing, he was certain.
“So you’re sure…?” he asked his sister. “You’re doing what you want to do?”
Even as she nodded, more tears pooled in her eyes. Her voice broke when she answered, “Yes.”
Clayton pulled her into a hug. “I’m honored to be giving you away tomorrow, but I wish…”
It didn’t matter what he wished. Nothing could bring back his father.
“I know,” Molly said, pressing her lips to Clayton’s cheek before pulling from his arms. “Me, too. But you’ll do, big brother. I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for us. For paying for my college and med school.”
“I didn’t,” he protested. “It’s really Dad’s…”
“It’s your money,” she corrected. “You’re the one working your butt off at the office. He’s been gone eight years, Clayton. It’s your office. Your agency. Your money. I can’t believe you even insisted on paying for the wedding. Josh wanted to pay.”
“Dad would have wanted…” He suppressed the emotion that was threatening to choke him. “It’s the right thing to do.”
“And Clayton always does the right thing,” she teased him.
What about her? Did she really feel getting married tomorrow was the right thing? “Molly…”
She kissed his cheek again, and one of her tears dropped onto his neck. “Thank you.”
He reached out, but she turned and ran back into the house. Before he could follow her, a soft hand slid over his forearm, pulling him up short.
His pulse didn’t jump, so it couldn’t be her. Instead of Abby, his mother tugged on his arm. “Come to the buffet and get some food, Clayton, before your brother eats it all. The way that kid eats, he must have a tapeworm.”
“Mom, I should check on Molly.”
“She’s okay,” she insisted. “All brides get emotional.”
He hoped that was all it was and that nothing else was going on with his sister. Of all his siblings, he’d worried the least about Molly. She’d always been so focused, so determined to achieve her goals. Ever since their father died, she’d wanted to be a doctor. Getting married was a little detour from finishing med school and her residency, but he had no doubt she would still achieve her goals.
Unless…
Abby had referred to the ceremony as a shotgun wedding. Could Molly be pregnant? Did she have to get married? He wouldn’t have thought so. The groom had been so traditional that he’d even asked Clayton for Molly’s hand in marriage. But nowadays that really didn’t mean anything. He allowed himself a selfish moment of satisfaction. Maybe Mom would soon have more than enough grandchildren to keep her happy and off his back.
“How come no one told me about Lara?” he asked her. The question had been burning in his mind since the airport.
His mother smiled her softening-the-blow smile. He’d seen it often over the years. “You tend to be judgmental, honey.”
First Abby. Now his own mother. Stung, he clenched his jaw. “I am not judgmental of people.”
“Oh, not people,” she agreed. “Just Abby. That’s why she made us promise not to tell you.”
So Abby had wanted to keep her daughter secret from him. Why? He’d never considered the fact that she might care about what he thought of her.
“Speaking of Abby,” his mother continued, “you need to drop her back at the house. Instead of a bachelorette party, the girls are having one of their infamous sleepovers at our house. Then we’ll all leave together for the church in the morning.”
He winced at the memory of those adolescent sleepovers. They hadn’t bothered him much when they were all younger, except for the incessant giggling that had kept him awake half the night. But he’d really hated it when they’d had them years later, on his weekends home from college. Abby had run around the house in skimpy boy shorts and a tank top. His wince turned into a groan that he smothered with a cough.
“I’ll switch her bags to your car,” he offered.
She shook her head. “Nonsense. That’s too much trouble.”
For whom?
“And Rory needs to spend the night at your place.”
“The best man was supposed to use my spare bedroom.” Despite all the recent construction, Cloverville still had no hotels or motels.
“He’s coming straight to the church in the morning, and so the groom doesn’t see the bride before the wedding, Josh and the boys are staying here at the Kellys’. You have room for Rory tonight.”
Room, maybe, but he wasn’t so sure he had the patience, especially not after seeing Abby again. He’d have to stay awake all night to guard his liquor cabinet. Clayton focused his gaze on Mr. Kelly’s cooler, beside which his curly-haired teenage brother stood—probably about ready to snitch a beer. Clayton had caught him with a bottle a few weeks ago, in the park, well after his curfew. The boy was trying to grow up too fast and too recklessly. Fortunately, the old man who’d seen Rory and his friends while walking his dog had called Clayton instead of the sheriff or their mother. That time, too, he’d had to leave his date in order to rescue Rory from himself.
It wouldn’t matter if both Molly and Colleen got married. He’d still have too much on his hands with Rory to consider getting seriously involved with anyone. But he wouldn’t change his mind about a relationship even if Rory suddenly became a choirboy.
Abby sauntered up next to Rory, whose face flushed red. Clayton’s gaze followed his brother’s to her derriere, straining the worn seams of her jeans as she leaned over the cooler, drew out a can and handed it to the boy. A cola.
Amusement teased his lips into a grin. His mother patted his cheek. “It’s great to see you smile, Clayton. You’re always so serious. Too serious. You need something…” Her gaze followed his to the giggling blonde teasing his brother. “Or someone to lighten you up.”
It didn’t matter how many grandchildren Molly gave her, he wasn’t likely to get his mother off his back. Ever. Because he wasn’t going to get married and start a family with anyone. And most especially not with Abby Hamilton.

Chapter Three
“So are you my chauffeur for as long as I’m here?” Abby asked as Clayton pulled into his mother’s driveway behind Mrs. McClintock’s minivan. She’d beat them home, with Lara in the back in the built-in car seat. Abby had wanted to ride with them, but Mrs. McClintock had insisted there wasn’t room with Colleen, Molly and Rory, who’d had to come home to pack his bag for Clayton’s.
He lived in town in the apartment above the insurance agency. Abby couldn’t imagine willingly leaving this home. Her heart lifted at the sight of the Dutch colonial where she’d spent so much time in her younger days. Although she suspected Rory had long outgrown it, the tire still swung from the giant oak in the front yard. The house wasn’t as colorful or as big as the Kellys’ Victorian, but Abby preferred its white siding and black roof. To her, it represented all the stability she’d never had in her own family. This house was why she’d packed up her apartment in Chicago. She wanted to raise her daughter in a house just like this.
Too bad it was in Cloverville.
“Mrs. Hild’s roses and Mr. Carpenter’s storefront thank you for not driving.” He turned toward her, his eyes gleaming in the dim glow of the dashboard lights, as he added, “Not to mention the colonel.”
“Not to mention, and yet you did. You just can’t let it go. We’re both adults now. Why can’t you put the past behind us?” she asked.
Why was he so determined to think the worst of her?
“I’m just teasing you,” he claimed.
“I’m not one of your sisters, Clayton.”
His gaze clung to hers as he leaned over the console, his face so close that his breath brushed her face when he whispered, “I know.”
Abby shivered, her attention drawn to his lips. But then he pulled back and opened his door. Her breath shuddered out, and when she reached for her door latch, her hand shook. Had he been about to kiss her? Clayton McClintock kiss her? She hated to admit it, even to herself, but growing up she had daydreamed about his kisses, how they’d make her feel…
Wanted. She shook her head, pushing aside the old longing, which she knew would never be fulfilled. Clayton’s kisses or anyone wanting her for keeps.
“I’m sorry you had to drive out of your way for me,” she said, surprised he’d come around to her side of the vehicle, as if he’d been about to open her door.
Clayton McClintock opening her door? Clayton McClintock teasing her? Perhaps she wasn’t the only one who’d changed.
“I have to pick up Rory, anyway,” he said as he headed around the SUV to unlatch the back door.
“But he could have ridden home with you, instead of your coming out here.” Her face flushed as she realized who had maneuvered the passenger lists. “Your mother…”
“She’s not exactly being subtle,” he said, with a short, bitter laugh. “She thinks you’d be good for me. That you’d lighten me up.”
Abby snorted. Mrs. Mick playing matchmaker for her and Clayton?
“Exactly,” he agreed with her snort of derision. Too quickly. Obviously he had no interest in her, despite his teasing. “She doesn’t understand. You’ve always brought out the worst in me.”
If she’d only seen his worst, what was Clayton’s best?
“How long are you staying here?” he asked as he hefted her bags from the back. She’d certainly packed more than a couple days’ worth of clothes. But then she had a daughter, and he had no idea how much stuff one needed with little kids. And he never intended to find out. He was still raising one family, and he had no intention of raising another.
A mocking smile tugged at her lips. “Don’t worry, Clayton. I’m not going to be here long enough for your mother to get us to the altar.”
He refused to take her bait. She was much better at teasing than he was, despite his having three younger siblings. Instead, he carried her bags to the door. “The only wedding I’m worried about is the one that’s taking place tomorrow.”
“That may be taking place tomorrow,” she replied.
He dropped the bags on the cement stoop in front of the door and turned back, trapping her between his body and the side of his mother’s minivan. “You’re not going to talk Molly out of getting married.”
Molly might have been emotional, but she’d seemed so sure that she wanted to marry Dr. Josh Towers. She didn’t need anyone making her doubt her decision.
Abby’s lips lifted in that infuriating smile she kept flashing him. He longed to wipe it off her mouth—with his. Breathing deep, he calmed his rising temper. No one, not even Rory, tested his control the way Abby did.
“What kind of friend would that make me?” she asked him.
“Talking her out of getting married?” He knew that she wouldn’t purposely do anything to hurt her friends. “You might think that makes you a good friend.”
She nodded. “I might.”
“But you wouldn’t be a good friend if you’re actually projecting your aversion to marriage onto her,” he observed. “Just because you think marriage isn’t for you, that doesn’t mean that it isn’t for Molly.”
“If you’re so pro-marriage, why isn’t there a ring on your finger?” she asked, reaching for his hand. Her skin brushed against his as she stroked his bare ring finger.
The hair rose on Clayton’s forearms—her touch was like an electrical charge. He pulled his hand away. “I’ve never been in love.”
And he damn well never intended to fall prey to that dangerous emotion.
“What makes you think Molly is?” she persisted.
He wasn’t certain Molly was in love. Yet. But she respected Josh and she’d chosen to spend her life with him. It wasn’t up to Clayton or Abby to change her mind.
“She’s wearing a ring,” he reminded her. “She accepted his proposal.”
“But I don’t think she loves him.”
He swallowed hard, but he couldn’t control his curiosity about her and about Lara’s father any longer. “Have you ever been in love, Abby?”
She shook her head, tumbling blond curls around her bare shoulders.
“But you have a daughter…”
Her laugh trilled out. “Clayton, you’re so old-fashioned.”
Yeah, maybe he was.
“And judgmental,” she accused him again. “I could have become a nun instead of a single mother, and you still wouldn’t approve of me.”
“Is that why you made everyone promise not to tell me about Lara?” he asked, stepping so close their bodies nearly touched. “You were worried about what I’d think of you?”
She lifted her chin and tossed her head with all the spirit of a champion racehorse. “I don’t care what you think of me, Clayton.”
Anger licked through him, heating his blood. She didn’t care what he thought? It shouldn’t bother him, but it did. “Then why didn’t you want anyone to tell me?” he persisted. “Are you ashamed you made a mistake?”
He stumbled back, nearly tripping over her luggage, as her hands slammed into his chest.
“Never call her that!” Her voice trembled with rage. “Never call my daughter a mistake.”
He caught her by the shoulders, holding her gently but firmly so she’d stop pushing him. “I’m sorry, Abby.” She definitely brought out the worst in him. “That wasn’t what I meant.”
He could never see a child, any child, as a mistake. And even before Abby had reacted so strongly, he’d known she didn’t see her daughter that way, either. She loved Lara.
Instead of defending himself, he conceded, “I was out of line.”
“Yes, you were,” she agreed, drawing in a deep breath. Her eyes pooled with unshed tears.
“I better go,” he said, releasing her to open the door to the kitchen of his old house. His hand shook, rattling the handle.
“Clayton?”
He turned back to her.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m leaving Cloverville right after the wedding.”
He nodded, relief easing some of the tension that pressed against his chest. No matter what his mother, the matchmaker, thought, they weren’t good for each other.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he said, setting her suitcases inside the door. “At the church.”
“Yeah, at the church…”
Unless she talked Molly out of going through with the marriage, which was her intention. She passed through the kitchen doorway, her back nearly grazing his chest. She suppressed another shiver, due no doubt to the cool night air. And not to Clayton’s proximity, nor the memory of the way the muscles in his arms and shoulders had rippled as he’d carried her bags.
“Hey, man,” Rory said from where he leaned against the center island. “What took you so long? They’re having a slumber party.” He rolled his eyes, trying to act macho either to impress his older brother or just because he was a teenage boy.
“Wait for me in the car, then,” Clayton suggested. “I’ll just bring these bags upstairs.”
“That’s not necessary,” Abby protested as she followed him up the back stairs to the second story. Why did he have to act macho, too? Was that a brother thing? “I can carry my own bags. They’ve kicked Rory out. You’re not supposed to be up here, you know.”
“My eyes are closed,” he insisted, in deference to the pajama party. “What room did Mom give you?”
When she said nothing, he opened his eyes again, his gaze meeting hers. “Mine. Of course.” He dumped his bags inside the open door.
“It’s not your room anymore,” she reminded him, but she followed his gaze toward the bed she’d be sleeping in. His bed. A shiver raised bumps on her bare arms. She had to remind herself that she was still mad at him for calling Lara a mistake. Honesty forced her to admit that he really hadn’t called her daughter that; he’d figured that was Abby’s reason for keeping her secret. Shame. But the only shame she felt was over her attraction to a man who would always think the worst of her.
“Abby, I’m really…”
She didn’t want another apology. She just wanted him gone. “Go, get out of here.” She gestured toward the stairs. “Girls only!”
“He probably wanted to hang around to catch a glimpse of you in your pj’s,” Colleen teased, leaning out her bedroom doorway as Clayton tromped down the steps. “He has always stared at you.”
“He was just trying to intimidate me into going home.” Never mind that the McClintocks’ house had always felt more like home than the rented bungalow she’d shared with her mother while her father spent most of his time away, driving a semi. But her mother actually hadn’t spent much of her time at their run-down place, either. She’d mostly been in the bar.
“So where’s Brenna?” she asked as she joined the two sisters in their old bedroom. Even though Clayton’s room was empty, Colleen and Molly still doubled up when Molly came home from school. Abby envied the closeness between them. Growing up, she had wanted a sister desperately, and so she’d made the McClintock girls into hers.
“Brenna stayed behind to help her mother clean up,” Molly explained as she painted her nails on top of some newspapers spread across the comforter. “And she didn’t want to leave her parents alone with T.J. and Buzz.”
Buzz was undoubtedly the twin whose dark hair had been “buzz” cut much shorter than his brother’s. Abby suspected he’d borrowed his father’s electric razor.
“Why? They were managing fine.” Abby recalled Mr. and Mrs. Kelly’s smiling faces and easy laughter as they’d played with the boys. Clayton probably wasn’t the only one under parental pressure to provide grandchildren.
“Maybe too fine,” Colleen agreed. “Mom might have to fight them for rights as a grandparent.”
“That’s just like Brenna to choose responsibility over fun,” Abby observed. “She and Clayton would be a perfect match.” So why wasn’t his mother trying to set up the two of them? Why was she playing matchmaker with Abby, who didn’t even intend to stay in town? To keep her and Lara in Cloverville? Mrs. Mick was the only “grandparent” Lara had ever known.
“Clayton’s never looked at Brenna the way he looks at you,” Colleen teased her. She had to be teasing.
“We’re not going to stay up all night talking about Clayton,” Abby insisted, determined to change the subject.
“So this isn’t going to be like our old slumber parties, then.” Molly laughed.
“We never stayed up all night talking about Clayton.”
“We never did,” Colleen agreed. “But you did.”
Obviously, her two friends had joined forces with their matchmaking mother. And they were making things up. The only reason Abby would have talked about Clayton at all back then would have been to complain about how he spoiled their fun. She picked up a pillow and chucked it at Colleen’s head.
“Mommy! You’re not supposed to throw things in the house,” Lara chastised her as she and Mrs. McClintock stood in the doorway.
The older woman’s face was illuminated with contentment. “It’s so great to have my girls home again,” she mused. “I’ll read Lara a story and tuck her into bed. You go back to gossiping about boys, like you used to.”
Abby kissed her daughter on the forehead. “Hey, sweetheart, thank you for being so good today.” She’d been extremely patient waiting for their flight—more patient, Abby suspected, then Clayton had been.
“I’m always good, Mommy,” Lara reminded her matter-of-factly. She waved at Molly and Colleen as Mrs. McClintock carried her off to bed.
“Are you sure she’s yours?” Molly teased. “She’s so sweet.”
Abby occasionally wondered herself. “You were there when I had her,” she observed. “Well, at least you were there until you passed out.”
Abby’s best friends had come to Detroit for Lara’s birth. Mrs. Mick had come along, too. Without their support, she didn’t know what she would have done. She’d been terrified.
“A doctor who passes out at the sight of blood…” Colleen began.
“Hey, I was exhausted,” Molly said defensively. “I can barely fit sleep into my schedule.”
But she’d always fit her friends into it. Because she’d been there for Abby, Abby had to be here for Molly, coming back to Cloverville and saying what needed to be said.
“Lara’s a good girl,” Abby said, “but kids are a lot of responsibility.”
“Oh, my God. Clayton’s already gotten to her. She’s talking about responsibility.” Colleen shook her head, sending waves of satiny brown hair shimmering around her shoulders.
“Kids deserve responsible parents, that’s all.” Not selfish ones like hers had been. “They deserve stability and love. Mol, you know I love you, but if you’re having any doubts—and I think you are—you shouldn’t get married tomorrow. It’s not fair to the boys or to Josh.”
Before she’d met Josh, Abby had figured her friend had accepted his proposal out of pity because he’d been raising his sons alone since their mother abandoned them when they were babies.
Molly’s husband-to-be seemed like a nice guy—and as gorgeous as Colleen had mentioned. Abby could understand why a woman would accept his proposal. For anything.
“But most of all, honey,” Abby said, settling onto the bed and looping an arm around Molly’s shoulders, “it’s not fair to you.”
“The wedding is tomorrow,” Molly replied, her voice heavy with misery, as she laid her head on Abby’s shoulder.
Abby’s stomach tightened. Her friend was having doubts. “Until you say, ‘I do,’ it’s not too late to back out.”
“Clayton will kill me.”
Abby laughed, knowing exactly on whom he’d lay the blame for a canceled wedding. “No, he won’t. He’ll kill me.”

ABBY CRACKED OPEN THE DOOR and peered across an empty vestibule into the church. Bunches of lilies and carnations adorned each pew. Sunlight shone through stained-glass windows behind the altar, casting the entire church in a rainbow of colors.
“Is anybody here yet?” Brenna asked from the ante-room, where she sat with Lara, Colleen and the bride.
Abby ducked back as she caught sight of several early arrivals. An older lady wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a wildly flowered dress particularly caught her attention. “Mrs. Hild.”
“She’s the organist for the ceremony.”
“Great. Just great.” The older woman would probably be about as happy to see Abby as Clayton had been. Cautiously she eased the door open farther, looking toward the other end of the hall and the groom’s room. As she watched, someone stepped out—Clayton McClintock in a black tux with a pleated shirt, the white fabric crisp and complementary to his tanned skin and brown hair and eyes. A sigh slipped from between her lips. Damn.
When he turned toward her, she shut the door and shakily leaned back against the frame. She didn’t belong here. Not in this church, and most definitely not in Cloverville. Every one of the town’s busybodies would be able to nod her head in confirmation of the old claims that she was, indeed, her mother’s daughter. Sure, Abby’s parents had been married…two months after her birth. And then, in those pre-paternity test days, her father had often claimed she wasn’t really his child. Abby suspected that even her mother hadn’t known for sure.
No, Abby wasn’t her mother’s daughter. Her bad driving hadn’t been the result of drinking, as the townspeople might have thought, but of her ADD. And furthermore, Abby knew who Lara’s father was—she only wished he’d been someone else, someone who’d have wanted both her and their baby.
“You okay, Mommy?” Lara asked, sitting perfectly still while Brenna wove flowers into her hair.
Abby couldn’t sit that quietly even now. If not for the fact that Lara looked so much like her, she might well have thought they’d switched her baby with someone else’s at the hospital. The child deserved more than Abby could give her—a stable home, a loving family. All she had was Abby.
But she worked hard to give her daughter everything she needed, and to be the kind of mother her daughter deserved. She blinked to clear her eyes as she gazed at Lara. “Oh, baby, you’re just so beautiful.”
“You’re beautiful, too, Mommy.”
Brenna whistled. “You really are. What a gorgeous bridesmaid’s dress. Someone with fabulous taste picked out these dresses.”
Abby glanced down at the strapless red satin gown. “Oh, I don’t know. I think they’re kind of tacky.”
Brenna tossed a red carnation at her.
“Hey!” Abby protested, dodging the delicate blossom. “You’re setting a bad example.”
“You’d know about that,” a male voice, deep with amusement, said from beyond the door. Clayton teasing her again?
Her heart thudded against her ribs.
“Who’s that?” Lara asked in a shy whisper. “Is it Rory?” Last night, at the Kellys’, she’d fallen a little in love with the teenager who’d quite sweetly played with her more than Josh’s rambunctious twins had been willing to. Rory, with his curly mop of hair and huge brown eyes, was hard to resist. Abby, herself, had fallen for him years ago, when he was a grinning, toothless baby. She’d helped his sisters babysit him. He had only been a couple of years older than Lara was now when Abby had left Cloverville, but it seemed to her he’d grown up so fast.
“No, it’s not Rory,” Abby told her.
“Clayton,” Colleen said, even though she was actually too far from the door to have heard his voice. She’d simply read Abby’s face instead. She sat at the vanity, touching up her makeup. Molly sat beside her sister, staring blindly into the mirror.
“You okay, Mol?” Abby asked, just as she had earlier, but this time with more than a twinge of guilt. Maybe she’d been too vocal last night, on the subject of Molly marrying a virtual stranger. One who came with two kids. If Molly had any doubts, she and the groom wouldn’t be the only ones hurt—the kids would be, too. And they didn’t deserve that. They deserved someone who would love them completely.
Going by the few dates she’d had since Lara was born, Abby knew that it wasn’t easy finding someone who could love your child as you did. Heck, she’d never been able to find anyone who could even love her. Abby. Except for her friends and Mrs. Mick.
The door rattled behind her, and Clayton spoke. “Everybody decent? Let me in.”
Abby braced her body against it. “Molly?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not even dressed yet,” Brenna said, gesturing toward a confection of white satin and lace that hung from a special hook on the wall. Molly sat at the vanity in faded jeans, a zip-up gray sweatshirt and her headpiece. “Let us help you,” she insisted.
Molly shook her head, setting ringlets atremble against her veil. “I can manage. It’s just one zipper.” She’d always been so independent, so determined. “I really need a minute alone. Can all of you step outside?”
“Molly…” Brenna protested.
“Please,” she implored them, using her expressive eyes to bring home the request to give her a little space.
Abby sighed. She’d spoken her mind, and her friend knew how she felt about this wedding. Maybe Molly needed a minute alone now to figure out how she felt about it. “Okay, gals, let’s give her a little space.” She straightened up and stepped away from the door, opening it to Clayton’s concerned gaze.
“It’s almost time,” he said, tapping a finger on his gold watch. “Molly, you aren’t even dressed.”
Abby pressed her hands against his chest and pushed, but not as she had the night before. Today, she could appreciate the ripple of muscle beneath her palms, the warmth that penetrated his crisp shirt. She swallowed hard, then said calmly but firmly, “Back off. The bride needs a minute.”
“Molly?” He spoke over Abby’s head, ignoring her words and her restraint, his voice full of concern for his sister. “Are you all right?”
While Abby respected the fact that Clayton cared for his siblings, Molly didn’t need any pressure from anyone right now. Her fingers pressed into the pleats of his shirt and she pushed once more. “Give her some space.”
His heart leapt, beating fast against her hand. He stared down at her, his voice a warning as he uttered her name. “Abby…”
She shivered, wishing her dress wasn’t strapless. His gaze skimmed over her shoulders to where the tight bodice pushed up more cleavage than she’d realized she had. His dark eyes flared.
Brenna pushed past them. “Come on, the bride wants some time alone.” She dropped her voice lower as she led Lara out. “I’m not sure what you two want.”
Neither did Clayton. Although she didn’t say anything, Colleen sent her brother an arched stare as she filed out behind Brenna and Lara. When Abby moved to pass him, he caught her by the wrist, wrapping his fingers around the delicate bones. She was so small.
“I want to talk to you,” he said, closing the door to give the bride the privacy she’d requested.
He couldn’t blame Molly. She was about to take on some major responsibilities: a husband and two boisterous young boys. He couldn’t imagine willingly putting himself in her position. But she’d made her decision, and once Molly made up her mind, she stuck to it. Unless someone who’d proven to be a bad influence in the past had managed to sway her. But Molly was at the church, about to put on her dress and about to walk down the aisle. Molly was fine, he assured himself.
Gently he tugged on Abby’s wrist, leading her into an alcove off the vestibule. “I want to apologize for last night.”

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