Page 3 of The Last Love Song
Remy’s approval of the dress was obvious as he moved toward Erin faster than if magnets pulled them together. He kissed her thoroughly, to the delight of his brothers, who contributed howls and wolf whistles that drew the attention of the catering staff in the kitchen. Zach kept his eyes on Heather, his quiet, focused gaze missing nothing.
“We’re taste-testing Harlan Brady’s distilling efforts,” he informed her, pulling another shot glass out of the bar cabinet while Remy and Erin finally came up for air.
Zach wore khaki pants and a vest, his jacket discarded in deference to the warm evening. The guys in the wedding party were dressed similarly, with gray vests and pants. One of Remy’s brothers had lost his tie, his white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar. But no matter, the group of men in the farmhouse dining room made for a formidable bunch, all thick shouldered and well built.
Still, it was Zach who held her attention. He’d grown up in Heartache, so he was a local guy. Yet even back in high school, he’d exuded a prep-school vibe, which suggested more money and better breeding. The more-money part was true—his father had made a fortune in the stock market. But the better-breeding part? Not so much. Zach’s dad went to jail for securities fraud, creating a huge scandal in the small town and far beyond. Zach worked hard to make people forget that, by volunteering at a nursing home as a teen, charming all the teachers and generally doing everything “right.”
His light brown hair was perfect, for example. Neither too short nor too long, it always looked as though a woman’s fingers had just tousled a few strands. His clothes were well pressed, surprising after a day when everyone else was starting to rumple.
To be honest, he had looked like the mayor when he was a senior in high school. Heather had been a year behind him. He’d left town for college on the West Coast and returned last year wealthier than before. Not that Heather cared about any of that. If anything, it made it tougher to like Zach, as he had the appearance of a man who breezed through life, while others slogged to get ahead. No, the thing that drew her to Zach was simply this: he had a slow, brooding way of looking at her thatmade her insides tingle. She felt the awareness hum through her now as she closed her eyes to force herself not to look at him.
“Count us in,” Erin announced. “Heather?”
She opened her eyes, her cheeks heating. “What?”
Erin waved her closer, but Heather kept her gaze locked to Remy’s. “If Harlan brewed it himself, it seems only polite we give it a try.”
“I draw the line at moonshine.” She edged around the newlyweds to stand closer to the door. How could she drink Harlan Brady’s potent brew when she planned on driving tonight?
Not to mention the medications she’d already started taking. Two of them came with the “absolutely no alcohol warning” label.
Zach set a fresh glass for Erin on the counter and followed Heather out of the dining area. “Wise move skipping the home brew.” He lowered his voice for her ears only as they passed through the family room toward the glass doors leading to the patio. “Harlan’s got a ways to go in his distillery skills.”
“You being an expert in moonshine?” She wasn’t the sarcastic type, but the words leaped out anyhow.
Something about Zach’s polished ease had always ruffled her a little. Maybe she envied his confidence. His perfect sense of belonging at all times. He’d done such a good job separating himself from his father’s criminal life, emerging a small-town hero when he took over the mayor’s job after Heather’s father had passed away. Only a few weeks after he’d arrived back in Heartache, in fact.
“Connoisseur of moonshine is on the list of qualifications for mayor. I thought it best to prepare myself for the job.” He paused near the fireplace, not moving any closer to the patio doors.
Country music vibrated the window panes, the tempo of the night kicking up a notch.
“My father must not have been as dedicated,” she shot back, reminding him of the Finley family’s lock on the mayor’s seat for over a decade.
She was jittery and off balance. She told herself it was because she’d already had one foot out the door when Erin had thwarted her plan to take off. It definitely wasn’t because of the way Zach Chance wore a shirt. Or the way he smelled like bay rum and sexy male.
Realizing how close they stood, she skittered a step back.
“I’m pretty sure your father just kept the still far from the house.” Zach surprised her with a smile.
The easy, lazy, heir-to-the-throne smile that had won him the job after her father died. Not that Zach had campaigned. He was the write-in candidate of choice—a natural leader. His return to town had been front-page news in the local rumor mill.
“He did like a good tailgate party,” Heather admitted, even though Zach was teasing. Probably. “I’m pretty sure he chose to entertain far from home to ensure none of us would embarrass him.”
“Everyone knew how much your father loved his family.” Zach turned serious. “Family first, right?” He quoted her dad’s favorite line, which he had often used while assuring the people of Heartache that they were all part of his personal clan.
“So he said.” However, her father had spent very little time with his flesh and blood and made very little effort to help manage his wife’s severe bipolar disorder. All his energy went to building a business and then rebuilding the town. She took another step back, her ankle jamming into an ottoman. “I’d probably better check on my mom.”
Yeah, color her lame. She always made excuses to escape from talking to cute guys by running to mama. But she had toomuch emotional flotsam in her head to sort through whatever was happening between her and Zach.
“Of course.” He was so smooth, so socially adept, he never let on that he found her as awkward as a preteen. Straightening, he reached for her. “May I?”
His hand hovered near her cheek.
Her heart rate spiked and she didn’t trust herself to speak. Let alone move. She managed a nod.
Gently, he pulled away two of the daisies that Erin had tucked behind her ear. She’d forgotten all about them.
“Two of these are turning the wrong way.” He set them aside and adjusted the one remaining flower, giving her plenty of time to absorb the warmth of his fingertips against her scalp. The silky flutter of her hair along her neck as he moved a few strands.
