Love and Other Trials

Chapter 3

THREE

Ariel couldn’t believe it.

Her grandma’s house might as well have slid into the ocean. All hope of fulfilling her part of her bargain with her sister had blown away, like dandelion seeds in the wind.

How could Tiffany have done this?

Her sisters liked to be the center of attention, sure, but flirting was one thing, and grabbing the best man’s butt was another.

“How come you’re so normal?” Dax asked as they drove back to the wedding venue—Charleston Estates Resort. “If that’s not a rude question? Is it because they’re your half sisters?”

Sherlock gave a low howl, as if he understood the kind of agony this line of questioning gave her.

“Maybe. My mom will tell you she and their father ran pretty wild when they first met, and they were still going when she had Tricia and Terry, who are fraternal twins, after Tiffany. Then their relationship crashed and burned. Grandma had two other daughters besides my mother, you should know, and she named them the Hurricanes when they were little because of how crazy they could get. Said she got what she deserved for calling her first child, my mother, Stormy, and her second daughter Gail—although the term gale is spelled differently—and then giving Brianne the nickname Breezy. So you see, wild blood runs in the family. Although I’ve found a way to channel mine into my job and overcome the rest. I like to say I have a louder good angel on my shoulder than a bad one.”

“Interesting.”

The word was loaded with meaning, but she wasn’t going to analyze it. “Mom didn’t like being without a man, and with three girls, she wanted stability. Dad’s a financial planner—very logical, patient, and steady. She made him a little wild, and he made her a little calmer. They balanced each other out until my mother wanted more. I was thirteen when they divorced.”

The worst year of her life. Suddenly she was the only person who didn’t fit in, except when she spent time with her dad and Jeffrey two nights a week.

With one hand resting on the steering wheel, Dax used the other to give Sherlock a good rubdown, making the dog’s soulful eyes nearly roll back in his head, which made her smile. She could always tell something about people by how they treated Sherlock and how he reacted. Dax clearly loved dogs. More, he longed for one himself.

“So you’re more like your dad.”

“Yes. He’s good with his clients and manages risk for a living, which I inherited from him. Except I was an accident. On some wild night my parents had in Vegas. Feel free to laugh. It’s cliché.”

He bit his lip, clearly trying to keep a straight face. “I won’t. But you have a half brother, right?”

“Yes, Dad already had Jeffrey from another marriage. He was three when I came on the scene, and instead of being jealous of me—like Terry and Tricia were at the same age—he considered me his baby princess. We adore each other with a capital A. The Three Tornadoes—as Mom called them when they were toddlers—were always their own unit. Jeffrey and I never fit in. But that’s a simple answer about why I’m different…”

The rain had lessened, but lightning flashes still lit the distance. “What’s the complicated answer?”

Maybe it was fatigue or the easy way he listened—like he was becoming a good friend beyond the sizzle between them—but she decided to tell him. “Since the first Deverell woman in the family—Augusta Deverell who came to Charleston from England with her husband in 1801—Deverell women have been raised to do two things: to please their mothers and entice men. I've failed at both. That makes me different straightaway.”

That green liquid gaze of his slowly slid her way. Making her shiver. Making her aware of the rain still wetting her skin.

“As someone who finds you very attractive in addition to funny, kind, and interesting, I would take issue with that last statement.”

Her insides tightened. Did he mean she enticed him ? She felt another little shiver, this one hot.

“Perhaps you’re different too.” She shot him a rueful smile. “Look, I’m a gentle wind in comparison to my sisters. By the time I came around, my mother had little energy left for me after my sisters. Dax, the truth is, my mother didn’t even name me. She was in shock at having another child. Three girls had tested her trim waistline plenty. She didn’t know what to do with Jeffrey. My sisters named me. Guess who they chose?”

She caught his wince. “I don’t want to assume it was a Disney princess.”

“That’s me. With the last name Holmes, I’m a hodgepodge of crazy characters. I named Sherlock something else, but my first search and rescue crew kept calling him Sherlock. It stuck.”

“Kinda like Captain Hotpants.” He hung his wrist on the steering wheel, looking manly and as delectable as the apple pie she’d passed up at the Waffle House. “We’re a pair. I mean, my last name is Cross. When someone calls me Mr. Cross, I wonder if they’re thinking I frown all the time. And what woman would want to be Mrs. Cross, assuming she’d take my name? Then there’s the teasing I got as a kid. Dax the Axe.”

Her lips twitched. “Maybe we should both change our names and pick new ones.”

“Fresh start.” His sexy wink sent tiny shivers licking across her skin. “I like that. What would you choose?”

She rubbed Sherlock behind the ears as she considered. “Something classic. Like Elizabeth Harvey. You?”

“Albert…no…Stephan St. James. That sounds more fun. Especially with my Southern accent. People’s brows would slam together when I said, ‘How y’all doing? I’m Stephan.’”

God, he really was a hoot. “I’ll call you Stephan if you’d like, but I’m warning you, I might have to bring out Captain Hotpants on occasion.”

“And you haven’t even seen this butt in dress whites yet.” Another sexy flash of a smile. “All right, Elizabeth. I hate to tell you, but I really like Ariel. I’ve never met one before, and it makes you seem even more unique.”

Could he just kiss her now? Because she wanted his hands all over her after that comment. “Well, I like Dax too. Do you know what it means?”

His indelicate snort came before a cutoff laugh. “My mother didn’t look it up until after she chose it. The name can mean water, leader, or badger. A hot mess, if you ask me. What about yours?”

Oh God, was she going to tell him? Yeah, because they were getting to know each other. Embarrassing things and all. Still, she peeked between her fingers at him. “Don’t laugh, but it means lion of God.”

He angled back further in his seat, making her even more aware of his powerful chest and shoulders. “I told you Rob thinks you’re a cross between Mother Teresa and Joan of Arc, so he got it sorta right.”

“Never say so.” She wiped Sherlock’s mouth with his white drool bib before he rested his head against her arm. “I’m more of a mermaid than a saint.”

“After meeting some of your family, I think you’re saint quality.” He pulled into the front parking lot for Charleston Estates and swung into an empty spot near the double door entrance. “Now—we’re finally here. We should get some rest and huddle in the morning. You have my number, but I’m in Cottage 4. Let me help you inside with your luggage.”

He was out of the car before she could answer, running around to her side and opening the door for her as the rain continued to fall. “From the way the lodge is lit up, I have a feeling the party is still going.”

“We’ll get you to your room so you can get some shut-eye.” He popped open the back passenger door so Sherlock could leap out. “You’ve been traveling after saving people’s lives. Take a break. We’ll start fresh in the morning. Together. Wanna have breakfast?”

Her pulse picked up. His face was slightly wet and shadowed despite the soft glow of the exterior lights, but she could see the interest in his eyes. She felt the same interest coursing through her. “I’d love that.”

When they entered the resort’s lobby, Dax toting her luggage, she gave a tired smile to the young man behind the desk. “Hi there. I’m Ariel Holmes.”

The attendant returned her tired smile. “Welcome to Charleston Estates, Ms. Holmes. Mari said to give you a special welcome. We’re looking forward to making your sister’s wedding the special occasion y’all hope for.”

If only you knew…

She and Dax shared a look before she pasted a polite smile on her face. “Thank you.” After Dax talked to Rob tomorrow morning, she might be canceling everything by noon.

He typed into his computer, a frown emerging. “I’m having a little trouble finding your reservation. Would it be under a different name?”

Impending doom filled her stomach. “No. I talked to Mari specifically about my cottage because I wanted my bloodhound to be comfortable. He likes his space.”

Dax put a comforting hand to her back as raucous laughter reached her ears from the lodge area tucked around the back. She knew that sound. Her sisters were still up. Probably on their second bottle of tequila.

“It seems your sister, Tiffany, moved into your cottage when it was ready.” He glanced up, a frozen smile on his face. “I wasn’t on duty yet, so I’m not sure?—”

“That’s all right.” She could feel acid already boiling in her stomach. “I’ll talk to her.”

She took off for the lodge’s entrance, holding Sherlock’s leash. Part of her wished Jeffrey were here because he’d rage at the Three Tornadoes for her. She wasn’t usually the type to rage. It wasn’t her style. Besides, it never worked. “I’m so sorry, buddy. I know you’re tired.”

The dog gave her a mournful gaze, trotting alongside her.

Dax matched their strides. “Anything I can do here?”

“Find some garlic?” Her joke fell flat as she stopped in her tracks. “I’ll figure it out. Go on to bed.”

“No, not until you’re settled. I’ve got your luggage.”

“Really. I’m fine. You can leave it in the lobby and get to bed.”

“ Elizabeth. I’ll see you to your door.”

A strained laugh emerged from her throat. “If you insist. Stephan .”

“I do.”

A part of her wanted to take his hand and sail off into the sunset, because that’s what Elizabeth and Stephan would do.

Another round of naughty laughter interrupted her reverie, so she started toward the doorway. She’d chosen the resort for its homey luxury as much as its convenience—the whole place was available for rental for the wedding. Her sister was supposed to take her second plunge into marital bliss here, but now it was all in jeopardy.

They had one hundred and fifty guests coming to the wedding…

Suddenly she felt like she was under the rubble of an earthquake after her exit had caved in, and she didn’t know the way out. When she reached the entrance, her gaze landed on her three sisters, clustered together on the buff-colored U-shaped sofas in their usual Lululemon yoga outfits. Two empty bottles of tequila—gold and silver—lay in the center alongside half-drunk cocktail glasses. The silver bottle was new. Everyone else seemed to have gone to bed, and Ariel wondered if Dax was relieved Rob wasn’t there.

“Ariel!”

Tiffany’s scream lit off two more piercing squeals from Terry and Tricia, who were on their feet immediately, rushing after their older sister. She braced herself as Tiffany plowed into her and wrapped her up in a tight hug, all sweetness amidst the smells of fading perfume and hair spray.

“Oh, thank God! We were so worried about you. Where have you been? It’s after three in the morning. I texted you and Dax. Why didn’t you text us back?” She gave Dax a flinty look even as Terry and Tricia grabbed Ariel and bussed her cheeks. That was normally how Deverell women greeted others. They didn't hug or kiss—they did both.

“What happened to your hair?” Terry cried out, blasting her with waves of tequila.

Tricia gave a bloodcurdling cry as she pressed her hands to her oval face. “You cut it!”

Tiffany stopped staring Dax down and swung her head to look at Ariel. “What did you do?”

Three unified sisterly cries pierced her ears and kicked off a soulful howl from Sherlock.

“How could you cut your hair before my wedding?” Tiffany raged, eyes bulging out like a possessed doll’s. “You’ll spoil my pictures.”

Goodness. She’d anticipated the drama, but not after three in the morning. Certainly not after what Dax had told her. Didn’t Tiffany realize how much trouble she’d caused?

“It was unavoidable. If I could have done anything else, I would have, so let’s make the most of it, shall we?”

“Make the most of it!” From the look of it, Tiffany’s head was about to start spinning around. “But I want everything to be perfect. You knew that, Ariel.”

“We’ll have to get her extensions—or a wig.” Terry’s face screwed up in horror as she touched Ariel’s short curls, making her want to swat at her sister.

“Yes!” Tricia agreed, eyeing her like a new decorating challenge. “A wig. Maybe something Marilyn Monroe-like.”

Wig talk had calmed Tiffany, but her sister still had her nose scrunched up in a prime Bridezilla pose. God, this was too much.

“Really, Ariel,” she said, shaking her head like Ariel was a naughty girl. “You know how important wedding photos are.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Tricia said, proving she’d taken her daily bitch pill. “She’s still single.”

“If Ariel said it was unavoidable, I’m sure it was,” Dax broke in, stepping protectively behind her, warming her now-numb heart. “She’s had a long day. How about we find her cottage?”

Tiffany gave him another hard look, and Ariel wondered if it was because Dax hadn’t flirted back or because she knew she was in trouble with her fiancé’s best friend. “Dax is right. Sherlock and I are tired and want to go to bed. We can talk more in the morning. I heard you have my key.”

“Sleep always helps your mood.” Tiffany reached out and rubbed her arm. “About the room… I needed a little more space for the wedding and the gifts, so I moved you in with the boys.”

“What?” She fell back a step in shock, rocking into Dax’s warm, comforting body.

“We put all five of them in their own cottage because Marshall is thirteen and Ripp is twelve, but us girls got to thinking it would be nice to have an adult around. You didn’t bring anybody, so we didn’t think you needed the extra space, and the boys love to play with Sherlock. There’s a nice pull-out couch in the living room for you and a homemade doggie bed on the floor for Sherlock.”

This was a new low. “You got rid of Lisa assisting me with the wedding and you want me to babysit? Tiffany, I’ve been working a tornado site this past week, and you know how rowdy the boys are.”

“You’re always doing something like that.” Her sister blew her platinum bangs off her forehead. “It’s what you do. Besides, it’s not babysitting. It’s just minding your nephews, whom you don’t spend enough time with. And they only get a little rowdy, being boys.”

Five boys between the ages of eight and thirteen would only get a little rowdy? Was she kidding?

“It’ll be fun.” Tiffany jostled her with that beaming smile of hers, something even three in the morning didn’t dim. “Think of all the memories you’ll make. And—we don’t need Lisa now that you’re here.”

The change from one shocking subject to the other wasn’t unheard of with her sisters, but she was a little slow given the lateness of the hour. “I need her?—”

“She wasn’t doing things the way I wanted.” Tiffany glanced at their other sisters, signaling them to join her side, as always. “Ariel, she was trouble. I would think you’d be thanking me.”

“Thanking—”

“Plus, she and Rob get to save some money,” Terry put in, smoothing back her strawberry blond hair from over her shoulders. “Do you know how much Lisa’s services cost per hour?”

She felt Dax’s hands come to rest on her shoulders and savored the strength they imparted. Because she was about to blow her top. “Yes, I know how much Lisa costs. I found her. She’s essential to things coming off.”

“No, you are.” Tiffany crossed her arms, and Terry and Tricia mirrored her stance. “Besides, you have Dax here to help you. Right, Dax?”

He was silent a moment. “Of course. I plan to help Ariel in any way I can.”

“See.” Tiffany jostled her and cut Dax a saccharine smile. “You have a big, strong man to help you. Better than Lisa.”

Unbelievable.

“I really want my own space, Tiffany,” she said.

Her sister’s dismissive wave had her gritting her teeth. “Don’t be like this. It’s my wedding. Besides, you love your nephews.”

Guilt. The oldest trick in the book. “That’s not the point?—”

“This way we get to spend some quality time with our honey pies, Ariel,” Terry drawled as Tricia nodded. “Do you know how long it’s been since we’ve been away from the boys? We need a break.”

“So do I!” Ariel cried out.

“It’s different with kids.” Tiffany gave her a hard look. “Ariel, you must be tired. Why don’t you head along to your cottage? You and the kids are in number 7. Let me get you the key card.”

“Make sure to sneak in quiet,” Tricia added, putting a finger to her lips. “Ryland is a light sleeper.”

She couldn’t make her feet move. She was sleeping on a pull-out bed in a three-bedroom cottage filled with five boys. Ones she was supposed to be minding. Of all the things she’d imagined coming out of the Three Tornadoes’ infamous minds, she’d never imagined this nightmare.

Sherlock nudged her with his head, his sad eyes likely mirroring hers. She shook herself. There was nothing she could do about it tonight. She knew the resort’s availability. Every cottage was accounted for by other guests until they fully occupied it starting Thursday. There was her grandmother’s place on Folly Beach, but it was much too late for her to go there, not to mention she didn’t have her own car.

After Dax talked to Rob, all of the arrangements might very well change anyway. She just had to get through tonight. It wasn’t long until morning anyway. God knew, she and Sherlock had stayed in rougher accommodations.

“Ariel will stay with me for the moment so she can get a decent night’s sleep.” Dax’s deep voice held the note of military command. “I have a two-bedroom cottage, and Carson won’t be getting in from Norfolk until Thursday. Come on, Ariel. You and Sherlock are dead on your feet. Good night, ladies.”

He turned her around with gentle hands and started to walk her toward the exit as her sisters cried out her name.

“Just keep walking,” Dax muttered.

Sherlock was trotting quickly, clearly eager to be gone.

“Are you sure about this?” she whispered.

“You betcha.” He let go of her arm when they cleared the lodge and glanced her way, making a face as the rain gently fell. “Five boys aged eight to thirteen? Between the farting and some other things boys do that I won’t mention, I’d be having nightmares for you. Jesus, I’m still a little stunned at their tactics, and this is after my butt got grabbed.”

“The sad thing is that I shouldn’t be surprised, but I kinda am.” She welcomed the humid air and gentle rain on her face as they left the main building and headed down the meandering walkway to the cottages illuminated by outdoor lighting. “They always make a big deal about me still being single. And not having kids.”

“So I heard, and it’s bullshit. You deserve as much respect as anyone else.”

The Three Tornadoes thought she was a freak for not having gone down the aisle at least once yet. Wasn’t she thirty-one? Why hadn’t she gotten married yet? The implication: something was wrong with her.

“It’s understandable why they’d want alone time with their partners, but it doesn’t mean they get to take advantage of you,” Dax finally commented as they arrived at his cottage.

He dug out his key card, and she took a moment to breathe in the sea air and listen to the crash of the waves along the property’s edge and the rustle of the palm trees as the rain hit their towering leaves. She’d been so looking forward to this little piece of heaven. Most of the cottages sat within a stone’s throw from the beach. All had screened-in porches with comfy chairs and couches and dining nooks. Thank goodness for Dax. She and Sherlock would have a quiet sanctuary after the long days she’d put in. It wasn’t Grandma’s house, but it held the same flavor, which was its own comfort.

Her dream of being given the deed to her grandma’s house had fortified her for this trip. But that dream felt pretty far off now, and she was suddenly sad and dispirited. If the wedding got canceled, her sister would hold on to the deed for future leverage. Or, worse, sell the house. Yes, she could find another place to live here in Charleston, but that would break her heart. Especially since her grandma wanted her to have it.

“My family doesn’t see it as taking advantage,” she commented quietly as she glanced around the porch before entering through the front door he held open. “They think you do everything for family because it’s family. That’s it. Grandma always said life is composed of love and other trials with family in the mix.” Of course Grandma had also added men to the list of trials. Ariel had always been extra wise on that score, having seen the fallout of her mother’s and sisters’ relationships.

Dax turned on a brass lamp beside the front door, illuminating the family room area that rolled into a kitchen and dining nook. A tall ceiling was decked out with a large white plantation-style fan and clerestory windows. Elegant colonial era furniture, seaside paintings, and antique knickknacks made the space feel welcoming and luxurious, as did the hardwood floors and brick fireplace.

She unclipped Sherlock’s leash. He immediately plopped himself down on the blue rug beside the fireplace and laid his head on his paws, clearly ready to sleep. “Poor fella. He’s my rock when I come back to see my family.”

“I’m glad you have him.” Dax set her luggage aside and leaned against the couch. “I’ve always known I’m from a great family. We have fun with each other. We all love and respect each other. When I think of my family, the concept of trials doesn’t even register.”

God, that sounded like a dream. “I’m glad for you.”

He crossed and laid a hand on her shoulder again, lightly stroking the tension in her muscles there. She wanted to lean in and bury her face against his chest. At five-two, she didn’t come up to his shoulder. He was a solid refuge, the way the famous Morris Island Lighthouse on Folly Beach always looked in a storm.

“Thank you for stepping in.” Their eyes met and held. “It helped. Knowing you had my back.”

“It was my pleasure.”

She searched his face. Fatigue was there, but so was heat. Her awareness of him grew, and the only sound was their breathing. God, she wanted him. He’d come and gotten her. He’d made her laugh. He’d been honest with her. Okay, sure, he wanted to stop the wedding, but that wasn’t his fault. He’d even protected her. How many more boxes did she need to check?

“You should get some sleep.” He caressed her shoulder, his thumb grazing the hard line of knotted muscle there. “You’ll feel better.”

His warm, compassionate look finally had her doing what she wanted. She closed the distance between them and laid her head against his strong chest. His arms came around her, and for a few minutes, all he did was hold her. There was comfort in the embrace, and there was sweetness in the way he ran his hands up and down her back.

“Come on, you’re dead on your feet,” he finally said, easing away and taking her hand.

After she said good night to Sherlock, he led her through the doorway to the small hallway and then to another door. She knew he was right. They were both beat, and this awareness between them would keep. He wheeled her luggage inside and gestured to the brass bed. “Good night, Ariel.”

His mouth tipped to the side, and then he was gone, shutting the door behind him. She stared at it and felt as if her heart had risen up like a birthday balloon and lodged in her throat.

Everything with her family was rock-bottom bad. But Dax Cross was oddly the bright spot. Yes, he was exactly like the Morris Lighthouse. Not only beautiful to look at but a much-needed light in the middle of turmoil.

They were going to need each other to weather the storm they were facing, because her sister would not back down easily if anyone tried to stop her wedding.

A part of her wanted to dive into I need to fix this mode. Disaster recovery was her wiring. But how could she? Even worse to contemplate: should she? Dax was justified in how he felt, but he didn’t understand the full scope of the situation. Then again, did Ariel? She and Tiffany lived in different towns and saw each other two to three times a year. Maybe her relationship with Rob wasn’t as strong as it had seemed back in November. Certainly, Ariel wasn’t ruthless enough to help her sister put a ball and chain around his ankle just so she could get her grandma’s house. How could she justify going into fix-it mode without more information?

She fell back on the bed, knowing she was exhausted. But her thoughts just wouldn’t settle. Her dream wouldn’t die. Because her grandma’s house!

Somewhere in hell a Deverell ancestor was laughing at her conundrum. The man who could ruin everything was the man she was attracted to. Really attracted to. Not just a passing fancy, as Grandma liked to say. Because if Rob decided to call off the wedding after talking to Dax, her time with the best man could be over. Even if it wasn’t, by some miracle, how in the hell was she supposed to date the man who’d stopped her sister’s wedding?

The trials were swirling like killer bees, and Ariel closed her eyes as her mind continued to spin images of the possible wreckage ahead.