Abby, Get Your Groom!

Abby looked over the license and card, then let China see them, too. When they were both finished with them he retrieved his license but left the card with Abby.

“Keep that. It has all my numbers on it—business and personal. I was going to leave it with you anyway so you could reach me after this.”

Abby looked at China, who looked back at Abby, both of them confused but still suspicious.

Then China stepped out of Abby’s station and seemed to disappear, though Abby had no doubt her friend would stay nearby.

“So, what’s going on?” she demanded then.

“Right now, a haircut and talk about my sister’s wedding,” he said as if he were narrowing it down for the moment.

Abby was half tempted to refuse both and send him packing.

But she knew that if Sheila—the owner of two shops who left the managing of this one to Abby—heard that Abby’d had the opportunity to do the wedding of anyone as prominent as a Camden and refused, there would be hell to pay. It would likely cost her her job. So she had to at least hear him out.

“A haircut and talk about your sister’s wedding,” she reiterated.

“For now, here. And then maybe we can set up something for later so I can tell you the rest. Somewhere neutral, where you feel completely safe and can just listen to what I have to say.”

Abby glared at him, again adopting her tough-girl attitude.

But once more she thought of how much she’d be risking if she didn’t accept the business he was offering, so she signaled her shampoo boy to come and lead Dylan Camden to the sinks. She stayed where she was, watching from there and wondering what was up with this guy.

When he’d first confirmed his connection to the Camden Superstores, she’d wondered if he was there to offer her a job. She’d heard that the Camden salons were really slipping these days and it wouldn’t be the first time someone had come in to steal her away from Sheila under the guise of having her do their hair.

But then he’d brought up the hospital. And he did seem to know things...

It was stupid. Totally stupid, and it hadn’t happened in years and years and she hated herself for lapsing into some old childhood dream. But a stranger coming out of nowhere, knowing something about her past, saying he had more to tell her, provoked the old fantasy just the same.

The fantasy of someone appearing in her life unexpectedly to tell her she’d been misplaced by loving parents who had finally found her and wanted to whisk her away to somewhere she belonged. To a family she belonged to.

It was far-fetched. She knew it. And Dylan Camden was only a few years older than her own thirty so he certainly wasn’t one of her long-lost parents.

But what if...

What if he was coming to tell her he was her brother? They both did have dark hair.

No, she decided. Dark hair was too common for her to draw conclusions just from that. And she certainly didn’t have the signature blue eyes the Camdens were known for—the Camden Blue Eyes, the papers called them. They were even more striking in person than she’d expected.

But the Camdens were a big-deal family with a huge number of associates and connections. There were countless ways the Camdens could have known her parents. Could she be the daughter of a socialite friend who had had her when she was very young and ultimately given her away to avoid humiliation and embarrassment?

Pie in the sky, she told herself.

Pipe dreams.

Dumb.

But what if Dylan Camden really did know something—anything—about her background?

It wouldn’t take much to know something she didn’t. And just in case...

It was insanely far-fetched.

But even so, the longer she thought about it, the more she knew that she was going to agree to meet with him.

In order to find out if he really did have even a morsel of information about who she was.

Chapter Two

Dylan paid the bill for his haircut at Beauty By Design’s reception desk then leaned around the partition behind it to call back to Abby Crane. “The park on Thirty-Second and Bryant, tonight at six-thirty, at the picnic tables—I’ll find you,” he said, repeating the time and location of the meeting she’d agreed to.

From her station she nodded that so-full head of shiny hair. He’d noted that it was the color of the Belgian bittersweet chocolate that he’d gorged on for the past three months.

“You’d better be on the up-and-up,” muttered the receptionist.

“I am, don’t worry,” he assured her before leaving the salon.

It was only a little after four and Dylan knew he should go back to his office for a while. But as he got into his black Jaguar the thought of that just didn’t sit well.

He wasn’t far away—he was on the very outskirts of the city, and it wouldn’t take him more than fifteen minutes to be sitting behind his desk again.

But since returning from three months of working on the security in the European stores—which he’d done to escape Lara and let the situation here cool off—everything seemed to require so much extra effort. It was taking its toll on him.

Sure, it was effort he was willing to put in. Effort he knew that he owed his entire family. And he definitely wanted to make things right again because he couldn’t even put into words how much he hated the way things were between himself and the family now.

But it wasn’t easy keeping up that eager-to-please attitude nonstop, day in and day out. It wasn’t easy doing things like today’s mea-culpa lunch with Cade and Nati—one of many he’d done during the three weeks since he’d been back. And sometimes he just needed to crawl to the back of his cave like a bear and take a few minutes before he could do more of it.

Like right now.

So rather than heading for the offices of Camden Incorporated where he would be around any number of siblings and cousins who were never particularly happy with him these days, he drove to his lower downtown penthouse loft instead.

There, he parked in his spot in the underground garage, rode the private elevator to the top floor and sighed in relief as he passed through the elevator’s doors when they opened directly into his loft.

His cave wasn’t very cave-like, admittedly.

The living room, dining room and kitchen were all one expansive open space decorated in glass, leather and chrome with mere hints of serene sky blue accents. The lines were smooth and there was no clutter. It was quiet, clean, and everything was in its place.

Lara had hated it.

And maybe that, and the fact that her own condo was decorated in what he’d considered “clutter chic,” should have been an indicator that she thrived on chaos.

But like all the rest of the clues, he’d missed that one, too.

As nice as it was to be home, and as tempting as it was to just chill out until he needed to leave again to meet Abby, he realized that he still had to let his sister and grandmother know what was going on. It was part of being on his best behavior, after all.

He took his phone out of his pocket and walked to the wall of windows that allowed him a view of most of Denver. Lindie was first on the list, to tell her that he’d arranged for her and her bridesmaids to have the hair and makeup trial by the special occasions team of Beauty By Design.

Abby had said that she ordinarily took Wednesdays off, but after some persuasion—and a conference with China who was apparently the head of the makeup-artist portion of it all, and the manicurist in charge of the nail division—they’d all agreed to do the trial next Wednesday.

And, yes, due to a cancellation of a wedding on the same Saturday that Lindie’s was scheduled, Abby Crane and the Beauty By Design group would be available for the race to the altar that Lindie had opted for, if Lindie and her bridesmaids were happy with the results of the test run.

Dylan concluded by relaying Abby’s email address so his sister could send pictures and information about what she had in mind.

Then Dylan called his grandmother to tell her the same things, as well as that he was meeting with Abby tonight to open the door on her past.

Both Lindie and GiGi appreciated what he’d accomplished but there was still an edge of reserve, a chilliness, from both of them—the same thing he met from the rest of the family at the office every day. So he was glad when the calls were complete and he could do what he’d come home to do—relax and let down his guard.

But the way things were still weighed on him.

Everybody had been pretty ticked off by the time he’d ended things with Lara, when he’d left for Europe. And even now, after admitting he’d been wrong and apologizing until he was blue in the face, feelings were still hurt, tempers were still tweaked and things were still stilted.

He just had to keep chipping away at it and eventually maybe the whole thing would get to be history.

The way he and Lara were.

“Crazy-ass woman,” he grumbled, reminding himself of his appointment on Monday to take the Jag into the shop to have the dents she’d made in it repaired.

If his siblings and cousins hadn’t been so mad at him when he’d left for Europe one of them probably would have had it done while he was gone. But as it was, his car had been left sitting in the parking garage for three months, the way he’d left it, and now he had to get it taken care of.

Luckily he’d had the windshield replaced before he’d left so he could drive it now. But there was plenty of bodywork that needed to be done on the expensive sports car.

Just one more thing that was all messed up...

Now, in retrospect, he could see how it had gotten that way. Subtly. Insidiously. Quietly. He could see where he hadn’t listened to what his family was saying and should have. He could see what he’d been blinded to by his feelings for Lara. He could see where he’d crossed the line himself on her behalf. And he sure as hell wished that he’d never given in to that urge in him to be her damn white knight.

But regrets and merely seeing things in retrospect weren’t enough. There was a price to pay for what had happened.

He knew that. And he was willing to pay that price. But, unfortunately, payment was coming late. In the end, he’d had to escape to Europe for a while just to get out of Lara’s sights himself—and that time lapse with his family had widened the gulf and made things all the more awkward to put back together again now.

He just had to keep at it, regardless of how rough it might be or how much he wished he could turn back the clock and stop it all from ever happening.

On the up side, he told himself, it had only taken Lara three months to get engaged to some other poor sucker. When he’d heard about the engagement he’d figured the coast was clear to come home, finally address things with his family and hopefully get them all back on track. It would have been worse if he’d been gone longer.

He hadn’t seen or heard from Lara since he’d come home. Thank God! He had no desire to ever set eyes on her again as long as he lived.

And exhausting as it was to put back together everything she’d broken, at least he’d had a couple of wins today. Hopefully he’d gotten a few steps closer to being forgiven by arranging for one of the most highly reputed stylists around to work on his sister’s wedding with very short notice—a coup if Lindie liked Abby Crane’s work.

Plus he’d set the wheels into motion to relay to Abby all his grandmother had told him so she could know where she’d come from. And he was on the path to find a way to compensate her somehow for what she’d suffered because of the actions of his family.

Assuming that Abby Crane had suffered.

But he did assume that, especially coming from his own current situation.

He’d felt lousy the past several months being on the outs with his family and a continent away from them. He’d been at loose ends the whole time. Adrift. He’d felt so damn cut off and alone in the world. It had been a rotten way to feel and he still didn’t like the sense that he was being kept at arm’s length, that he wasn’t embraced by them all the way he was used to.

So what must it have been like for Abby Crane to grow up in foster care, moved from home to home, with no family of her own ever?

He couldn’t imagine that it had been good for her.

And yet, she wasn’t what he’d expected of someone who had been shuffled through the system.

He’d expected her to be hard-edged. He wouldn’t have been surprised by spiked hair or tight leather or all-black clothes. By tattoos and piercings. By an I-dare-you-to-cross-me attitude.

But that wasn’t Abby Crane.

Instead she was a fresh-faced beauty who looked as if she could have grown up in the country, on a farm.

A spectacular beauty, certainly without any obvious too-hard edges.

No, she was all soft curly hair—wild, thick hair that he’d kind of wanted to get his hands into. She was all smooth peaches-and-cream skin that didn’t show signs of ever having had so much as a blemish.

She was all fine, delicate bones in a nose that not even the most expensive plastic surgeon could have done as well. She had a slightly pointed, defined chin and high cheekbones dusted naturally pink and pretty.

And there definitely wasn’t anything hard about her soft-looking lips or those big brown doe eyes that somehow sparkled even from that deep, dark color.

Why he hadn’t expected someone quite that attractive to come out of the life she’d had he didn’t know, but he hadn’t. And he could honestly say that even if she had been on a rocky road in the past, it wasn’t reflected in the way she looked now.

About the only possible indication of a difficult youth had been in the way she carried herself.

She was relatively small—not more than five feet four inches—and trim under that black smock. He’d seen that when she finished his haircut and took it off, revealing a body with tight curves in all the right places. But she stood straight and tall, shoulders back, head high, as if intent on making herself seem bigger than she was and strong enough to take on the world.

And there was nothing effusive about her—that probably came from the way she’d grown up. She was friendly enough but not overly so. Self-contained. And while she seemed warm toward that China person, he certainly hadn’t felt an over-abundance of warmth directed at him.

She was slightly outspoken, too, he recalled, remembering her unabashed demand to know what he was up to. And she was no good at hiding the suspicion she’d felt. But that attempt to sound intimidating had just been adorable. Thinking about it made him smile the way he would have at the time if he hadn’t suppressed it.

So if foster care had left scars they weren’t readily visible. But it was something to watch out for anyway, he told himself. Like Lara’s true nature hiding just under the surface, Abby could have plenty of baggage that wasn’t easy to see but that could end up being hell to deal with.

Purely on a business level, of course. It wasn’t as if he was considering anything else. Anything personal. There wasn’t going to be anything personal between him and any woman for a long time. Not when he had so much damage control still to do with his family.

And even if he was ready for another relationship, even if all his fences with his family were mended, he’d be cautious of someone who came from Abby’s kind of background. Stable, steady, grounded—that’s what he’d be looking for when he started looking for someone again.

Someone who had been raised moving around from home to home? He didn’t see how that could breed stable or steady or grounded.

Maybe that wild hair of Abby Crane’s was the kind of clue that the clutter of Lara’s condo should have been.

And this time around he was reading it, noting it, and taking it very seriously.

Not that there was anything to what he was about to do with Abby Crane that was at all relationship-driven to make that matter.

There wasn’t.

His only job was to reveal to her who she was, where she’d come from, and then see how he could—in some way—make things up to her.

At the same time he was making things up to his family.

And, with any luck, maybe he could take care of everything at once and then really breathe a sigh of relief.

But no matter how long either chore took, it was all going to be far behind him before he even considered getting involved with another woman.

Fresh-faced spectacular beauty or not.

* * *

The park on Bryant Street was only a block from Abby’s apartment. She wanted to walk there but it was after six o’clock when she got home so she had to hurry in order to change clothes first.

Not that she really needed to change clothes—there was nothing wrong with what she’d been wearing all day. And she convinced herself that it wasn’t for the sake of Dylan Camden. She just felt like putting on something fresh.

So she replaced her work jeans with a better pair that were low-slung and fitted her rear end just the way she liked. On top she opted for a slimmer-cut black T-shirt that hugged her not overly well-endowed chest. She wore that over a white-and-black polka dot tank top that rose about two inches higher than the T-shirt’s square-cut neckline.

She drew a large hair pick through her curls and re-scrunched them, and refreshed her eye makeup, blush and lip gloss. Although she probably shouldn’t have used the time, she searched out and put on a pair of hoop earrings before rushing back to her closet for shoes.

Despite telling herself that she should wear sturdy shoes in case this guy was some kind of creep she might need to kick before making a run for it, she still went with a pair of ballet flats that wouldn’t be able to do any damage.

But they were comfortable and she’d been on her feet all day. Plus they had cute little white-and-black polka dot bows that coordinated with her tank top.

It was six-twenty-five by then, so she grabbed her keys, put them in the pocket of her jeans and headed for the park.

Dylan was already there—Abby spotted him when she reached the corner across the street from the park. He was sitting at one of the picnic tables. And looking as good as he had at the shop that afternoon.

She’d been hoping that maybe he wouldn’t. That the flattering lighting of the salon had just really worked for him. But that wasn’t the case. The guy was sooo hot!

But that wasn’t going to get to her. He was still a stranger and her guard was up on that account alone. But there were two other things that factored in, too—she’d just ended the only long-term relationship she’d ever been in, and what had come out of it had shaken her. That wasn’t anything she wanted to try again anytime soon.

And if she hadn’t been good enough for Mark The Systems Analyst, she certainly wouldn’t be able to live up to the standards of a Camden. Someone like that would surely believe he was legions out of her league.

So, Adonis or not, Dylan Camden wasn’t going to get to her.

He saw her coming just then and perked up as if he was happier to see her than she thought he should be. Or maybe he’d just thought she wouldn’t show and was glad she had. But she was still leery.

“Hi,” she said as she drew near the table.

“Hey there,” he responded.

He was sitting on the table itself, his big loafered feet on the bench below, long jeans-encased legs V’d out wide, leaning on forearms atop thick thighs—nicely developed forearms exposed below the rolled-up-to-his-elbows sleeves of a crisp, clean, pinstriped shirt.

He’d changed clothes, too. And he’d shaved so his face was clear of stubble, as if he wanted to be ready for kissing.

Dumb thought. Surely he hadn’t shaved so he’d be ready for kissing her.

“Shall we walk or sit here?” he asked when she joined him.

“Let’s just sit,” she said, preferring to stay near to the busy street and her apartment.

“Oh, right, you work on your feet all day—taking a walk is probably not high on the list of things you want to do,” he reasoned.

Sure, let him think that.

He stood then, and Abby was struck once more by how tall he was and what a great body he had—lean and toned, muscular, and wow, those shoulders and the way they tapered down to that narrow waist were impressive!

He motioned for her to sit on the now-free bench but she rounded the table and sat on the other side instead.

Something about that distance she put between them made him smile as he slung a long leg over the seat he’d just offered her and took it himself. And when he smiled small lines fanned out from the corners of his astonishingly blue eyes and drew the most appealing little parentheses around that supple mouth.

She tried not to notice, let alone appreciate the sight, but it was almost impossible not to appreciate someone who looked as good as he did.

“How’s the hair?” she asked, letting herself look at him even more closely for a moment to assess the work she’d done on him earlier.

“Best haircut I’ve ever had,” he said without equivocation. “I washed it in the shower, ran a towel over it when I got out and barely had to touch it from there.”

She fought the mental picture of him in the shower—and out of it. Naked. Big and strong and tight. Hard muscles glistening wet. Reaching those impressive arms up to rake a towel over that dark, thick hair and making those massive shoulders stretch while the sinews of his back flexed all the way down to those great glutes she’d caught a peek of when he’d left her station today...

Whew! That was not something she should be thinking about, either! And she wasn’t quite sure where all those details had come from.

She chased the image out of her mind, forced herself to sound cool, detached and objective—which was not how she was feeling—and said, “It isn’t too short...your hair?” she added, reminding herself that that was all she was supposed to be considering.

“Yeah, shorter than I wanted it but you were right to do it. It looks better than it ever has.”

She didn’t know about ever but she did know he looked fantastic there in the late-day, early-autumn sunshine. She restrained herself to say nothing more than an aloof, “Good, I’m glad you like it.”

“My sister is thrilled that you can fit her and her bridesmaids in for the test run Wednesday,” he said then. “And that if that goes well, that you’re free to do the wedding the Saturday after that. Her hopes are high and I told her I didn’t think you’d disappoint.”

“We’ll do our best,” Abby assured, effectively ending the catching-up part of things.

Which, she thought, left them with the reason he’d wanted this meeting. So she waited for him to get to it.

He must have realized it was time for that because he reached into one of his front pockets and produced a key that he held out to her.

She didn’t take it. Instead she narrowed her eyes at him and said, “If that’s the key to your place and this is all some kind of come-on—”

“It isn’t,” he said quickly, setting the key on the picnic table closer to her than to him.

But rather than explaining what the key was for, he said, “Is there anything you know about where you came from? Your family or history or anything?”

“I know the same things you said this afternoon—I was left sleeping on a chair in the hospital waiting room with a blanket and a note saying my name was Abby. Someone along the line added Crane as my last name because there were pictures of cranes on the blanket that I guess I wouldn’t let go of.”

“I’d wondered where that came from.”

“I know that local newspapers did articles and news stations did broadcast stories asking anyone who might be able to identify me to come forward,” she went on, “and no one did. I know that there wasn’t any information other than my first name so I’ve never had a real birth date. The pediatrician who checked me out at the hospital decided I was barely two so they picked a day the month before I was found and that’s what I use when I have to give my date of birth. And that’s it. That’s all I know.”