Page 139 of Jack

He raised an eyebrow, hating the memory those words dredged up. Because yes . . .

“In your life.”

Right.

And then she took a breath. Sighed. Looked up at him, and he saw in her eyes the woman he’d discovered this week. Smart. Brave. Determined.

“I’m sorry you’re embarrassed. But I’m not sorry that I kissed you. Then, or this week. I’m not sorry that I have an overactive imagination or that I wish for big things. Frankly, I thought I made you sound pretty good.”

Then she turned and pushed through the door.

The cool breath of the wine cellar followed her out. He stood for a moment, then spotted Boo emerging from the bathroom across the hall.

Fine.He’d talk to Harper later.

Hehadsounded pretty good.

He returned to the parlor, followed the instruction of the photographer, Harper’s words running over him.

“I wanted what I thought you wanted. A family. A home. This. I wanted this.”

He did too. He just didn’t know how to find it, to land it.

His dad found his thoughts, wandered around as Jack posed with the groomsmen.“He’s waiting for you to come to Him, to stop running and discover peace.”

By the time they’d finished, country music spilled out from the third-floor ballroom, down the winding stairs, into the foyer where guests started to arrive. Jack met a few of Oaken’s posh friends, trying to keep an eye out for Harper, but he didn’t see her.

He glad-handed his cousin Dodge, from Alaska, catching up for a moment on his family—Echo and baby Chase—and then met Noemi, the wife of Range.

Jack finally went upstairs. Round tables filled much of the room, with a band set up at the front along with a dance floor. Oaken and Boo’s sweetheart table sat alone at the front of the stage.

The wedding party sat at one table, Oaken’s family and Boo’s SAR team at another. Jack took a seat next to Austen. “Where’s Harper sitting?”

She picked up a name card next to her. “Here.”

He frowned, again looked around for Harper. Most of the tables were filled, the band playing music in the far corner, the smell of dinner wafting up from the kitchen.

“Where’s Penelope?”

Austen picked up her napkin, frowned at him. “Um, I think I saw Harper and her talking earlier, out on the porch.”

“Outside?”

“Yeah. Wait—you don’t think sheleftdo you?”

He pushed his chair out, got up. “I don’t know.”

She put her napkin down. “You need us to find her?”

He looked at her. “No, but if I do, I’ll let you know.” He put a hand on her shoulder, then wove his way through the crowd.

He headed down to the second level, but the guests’ doors were closed, so he descended to the first floor. Empty parlor, empty dining room. He pushed through to the kitchen, to the scent of roasted chicken—no, quail, given the golden-brown birds on the counter. Staff plated the food, then covered the plates and loaded them onto a dumbwaiter that lifted to the third floor.

He spotted his mother talking with another woman.Oh, Oaken’s mother. Pretty woman. Blonde and tan.

“Mom, have you seen Harper?”

“Not recently. She and her friend Penelope were outside talking to some man earlier. Not a guest, but Penelope seemed relieved to see him. She gave him a hug.”

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