Country Brides - Debbie Macomber [65]
“Kate’s already agreed to accompany me,” Luke inserted, daring her to contradict him.
Indignation rose inside her. Instead of helping, Luke was making everything worse. The pain of watching Clay pledge his life to another woman was difficult enough, without Luke’s unsought demands.
“I’m glad to hear that,” Devin Logan said, clearly relieved. He smiled as he slipped his arm around Dorothea’s waist. “Mrs. Murphy invited me to sit with her and, frankly, I was looking forward to doing that.” He released Kate’s hand, kissed her on the cheek, then strolled nonchalantly away.
“Shall we?” Grinning, Luke reached for Kate’s limp hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. As if they’d been a couple for years, he casually led her out of the church.
The early evening air was crisp and clear. Autumn had crested on an October tide of bronze and gold leaves, huge pumpkins and early twilights. Normally, this time of year invigorated Kate. If she hadn’t been fortifying herself against Clay’s wedding, she could have appreciated the season more.
The walk across the parking lot to the reception hall was a short one. Kate didn’t say another word to Luke, mentally preparing herself for the coming encounter with Clay and his bride. With each step her heart grew heavier. Rorie had asked her to be a bridesmaid, and although Kate was honored by the request, she’d declined. Rorie understood and hadn’t pressured her. Despite the fact that they both loved the same man, Rorie and Kate had become close. Their friendship made everything more difficult for Kate, yet somehow easier, too.
By the time they arrived at the old brick building, Kate’s pulse was so loud it echoed like a drum in her ear. Just outside the double doors leading into the hall, she stopped abruptly.
“I can’t go in there,” she told Luke. Panic had worked its way into her voice, which was low and trembling. “I can’t face them and pretend…I just can’t do it.”
“Yes, you can.”
“How could you possibly know what I can and can’t do?” she demanded, wanting to bury her face in her hands and weep. These past few hours had taken their toll and she couldn’t keep up the charade much longer. Luke gazed down on her and for the briefest of moments his eyes registered sympathy and regret.
“You can go in there and you will,” he repeated.
Kate saw determination in his serious dark eyes and swallowed an angry retort, knowing he was right.
At six feet, Luke towered over her, and the hard set of his mouth did more than hint at determination and a will of iron. “If you don’t attend the reception, everyone in Nightingale will talk. Is that what you want?”
“Yes,” she cried, then lowered her head, battling down wave after wave of depression and self-pity. “No,” she said reluctantly, loath to agree with him.
“I’m here for you, Kate. Lean on me for once in your life, and let me help you through the next few hours.”
“I’m doing fine. I—”
He wouldn’t allow her to finish. “Quit fighting me. I’m your friend, remember?”
His words, hushed and tender, brought a burning to her eyes. Her fingers tightened around his arm and she nodded, calling upon a reserve of strength she didn’t know she possessed. “Just don’t be so bossy with me. Please. I can bear almost anything but that.” She’d made it through the wedding ceremony on her own. Now she needed someone at her side to help her appear strong and steady, in control of her emotions, when she felt as though the entire universe was pitching and heaving.
“Anything you say, Princess.”
Although she’d objected earlier, she felt comforted by his strong arm against her. She heard his voice, as if from a distance, too preoccupied with her own pain to respond to his concern. But his presence restored her determination to acquit herself well during the long evening ahead.
“Only Daddy calls me Princess,” she said distractedly.
“You mind?”
“I don’t know…I suppose it’s all right.”
“Good.” His fingers intertwined with hers as he guided her into the brightly decorated reception hall.
The next half hour was a blur.