Falling for the Best Man (Sisters of Wishing Bridge Farm, #1)(7)

Christopher’s face paled. “Hell. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. I shouldn’t have been making a joke. Forgive me.”

“It’s okay.” Emmy studied her fingers. Most people meant well, but she found it difficult to talk about Ivy’s battle with cancer. It was still too painful. Too raw.

“It’s not okay,” he corrected. “I know how close you were.”

Yes, because I was dumb enough to tell you.

She dared to look up and study his face, unsure if he was going to say anything more. But he was silent as his eyes caught hers. His irises were rimmed with black and full of remorse. Her heart pounded, and she looked away. Having his sympathy just makes it harder.

She jumped to her feet.

“We need to get going. Ready?”

“Of course. Where did you got that bread from?” He brushed the crumbs from his clothing, as if the exchange had never happened. “I normally write about whitewater rafting and rappelling, but I might have to make an exception. This is pretty special.”

“Well, you’d be writing about me,” Emmy admitted, not sure if he was changing the subject because he sensed she was uncomfortable, or merely because he was addicted to carbs. Either way she was quietly grateful.

“Impressive. I didn’t realize what hidden talents you had.”

“Er, thanks,” Emmy said. Making a loaf of bread wasn’t exactly part of the dark arts. Which meant he was probably making fun of her. Her mood darkened, but she was saved from having to reply by the crunch of tires on the gravel path outside. Christopher stood up, letting her once again see the full extent of his body. Her breath deepened as he went to peer out the long kitchen window.

Do not look at his ass.

“Are you expecting company?”

“What?” Emmy blinked as she dragged her gaze away from his behind. Honestly, I have the worst ideas. Then she realized he was still waiting for an answer. What was the question? Oh, right. Company.

“Not that I know of,” Emmy said, then wondered if Monsieur Lafayette had changed his mind. “It could be the dove breeder.”

“Is the dove breeder about five foot one with short brown hair, and in the habit of carrying a stuffed toy alligator under her arm?” he asked, and Emmy jumped to her feet, her brow furrowed. That could only be one person.

“Bec?”

“What’s a Bec?” he asked, still staring out the window.

“Not a what, a who.” Emmy walked outside just as a taxi pulled way, leaving her younger sister standing there with an exasperated expression on her face.

“Jeez, Emmy,” Bec said as she hooked her backpack over her shoulder and stalked over to the back door. “The driveway’s getting worse every time I come back. Stan was almost going to charge me double for driving me up here. Said his suspension will be shot.”

“What are you doing here?” Emmy said, ignoring the driveway comment. Despite how much she loved Wishing Bridge Farm, there was hardly enough money to pay for the power, let alone the upkeep. Not that she could tell Bec, in case it gave her sisters more ammunition in the argument for selling the place. It was also one of the many reasons Emmy wasn’t thrilled at Bec’s sudden appearance.

“Last time I checked it was my house, too.” Bec sailed inside and deposited herself in the closest chair not covered in wedding preparations. At twenty-two, Bec was like an exotic pixie, with blue eyes, dark bangs that fell across her lightly freckled face, and full rosebud lips that made just about everyone fall in love with her. “And who’s this?”

She was also impossibly direct.

“This is Christopher. Christopher this is my younger sister, Bec, who is about to explain why she’s suddenly turned up with no notice. I thought you were working in a bar in England?”

“I was, but now I’m here.” Bec, who always used her own logic, gave an indifferent shrug.

“And you didn’t think to call first?” Emmy said. Not that she was really surprised. Bec spent her whole life flitting from one place to the next, and while normally she could accept that as just who her sister was, the timing for this visit couldn’t have been worse. “How long are you back for?”

“What’s with all the questions? I didn’t call because it was a last minute decision.” Bec got to her feet, her eyes not quite meeting Emmy’s. “It’s been a long flight, and I’m tired, so if it’s okay with you I’m going to go and crash down in the cottage.”

“Actually…” She coughed, hoping her sister wouldn’t read too much into it. “You’ll have to sleep in the house. Christopher’s staying in the cottage.”

“What?” Bec’s navy eyes, so like their father’s, bulged. Mainly because if any of the three sisters were likely to have a strange guy staying in the cottage, it would be Bec. Even Pepper, behind her business suits and college education, had a rebellious streak in her, but Emmy had never invited anyone to stay at Wishing Bridge Farm, something Bec well knew.

“If it’s any consolation, I’m fully house-trained,” Christopher piped in, which caused Bec to giggle.

“I’ve got no idea who this guy is, but I like him. He’s funny.”

“Thanks.” Christopher grinned. “I like you, too. Anyone who travels with a stuffed alligator will always have my vote.”