Chapter 1
ONE
Lucy Barlow was in deep trouble and trying to hide it. Just a few feet away from her, Cormac McKenna leaned his elbows on his thighs and surveyed her through the startling deep blue of his eyes. Discomfort squirmed through Lucy’s stomach as she withstood the intensity of his stare, but there was no way around it. She needed help.
She huffed and decided to just come out with it: “The Stirling Stationery Man just declared war. I need backup.”
Cormac blinked, unmoved. “Backup? What kind of backup?”
“Well… The kind of backup that looks like…you.” Though her heart hammered, she squared her shoulders. “I need a bodyguard to accompany me to this year’s Wedding Expo.”
“I see,” Cormac replied. His voice was deep and even, giving no hint at what was going through his mind. He probably thought she was insane. Maybe he was right.
Lucy soldiered on because she’d already humiliated herself this much, and she might as well finish the job. “Last year was a bit…rough.”
“Rough,” he repeated.
“Uh-huh.” She aimed for brightness in her smile, forcing herself not to shift her weight from foot to foot. Standing in front of Cormac felt a lot like being the only actor on a stage, the spotlight shining in a bright circle around her feet. She hated it. The urge to fidget was an itch under her skin, the need to run a twitch in her legs.
But she had no choice. She needed him.
Another deep breath, and she was reasonably certain her voice would remain steady when she spoke. “I had a look at your website, and I saw that you provide personal security services. I’d ask Marlon, but he’s…you know.” She waved her hand at the other side of the ballroom, where the groom, Marlon, was busy kissing his bride, Camilla. The two of them would be leaving on their honeymoon a week from Monday, and they had earned his time off. Their courtship had been eventful; Marlon’s nose would forever have a slight lump from the time Camilla had kicked him in the face and broken it when he was trying to save her from a vindictive loan shark.
It had been about a year and a half since those events, but they had cast a long shadow. Lucy didn’t want to trouble her friends with her own problems when she was meant to be celebrating their union.
Lucy took a deep breath. “You didn’t have prices listed, so I was hoping I could get a quote…?” She trailed off.
Cormac watched her. She had the ridiculous urge to force out a fake laugh, tell him she was pulling his leg, and disappear in the throngs of weddinggoers so she didn’t have to feel the weight of his gaze. But that would be spineless, and Lucy was no coward.
He was a large man, wide across the shoulders, though his tuxedo did its best to conceal his size. Stubble lined his square jaw and framed his lips, which Cormac pursed slightly as he considered her. She knew from the interactions they’d had previously that he was built like a fighter: lean, corded, and freakishly strong. At their Friendsgiving celebration last year, she’d seen him heft a chunky timber table and rotate it into position with one arm. When she’d tried to nudge it over a minute earlier, the table hadn’t even budged.
Of the five friends (Cormac, Marlon, Leo, Archer, and Emory), Cormac was the most solitary. Even today, on his best friend’s wedding day, he chose to sit at his table and watch other people enjoy themselves instead of joining in the festivities himself. Lucy was the same. Maybe that’s why she’d worked up the courage to walk over here in the first place.
He brought his fingers up to rub his chin as he studied her. His hands were rough, weather-beaten and corded with tendons and veins, with blunt, clean fingernails and big knuckles. A man’s hands.
The sight of this big man, with his big hands, and his shrewd, silent perusal made Lucy want to fall through the floor and disappear. She hated being watched—being seen .
She couldn’t do this. The spindly fingers of anxiety raked across her ribs one time too many, and she discovered she was a gutless coward, after all.
“So, I’ll email you.” She clapped her hands together and nodded. “Good? Good. Enjoy the wedding.”
She spun on her heels, the pale peach of her bridesmaid’s gown swishing around her legs. Her face must have been bright red; it felt so hot it tingled. That always happened, and in recent years it had only gotten worse. She couldn’t handle scrutiny, or attention, or any sort of pressure at all.
It hadn’t always been this way. Once upon a time, Lucy was a high-performing salesperson with her name topping her company’s charts on a regular basis. Now, she couldn’t even handle a simple conversation.
A plan quickly bloomed in her mind. She’d cut across the ballroom, duck down the hallway to the bathrooms, lock herself in a stall, and do some deep breathing. Then she’d come back and hide behind the big potted plant in the corner until the wedding was over.
She wouldn’t email Cormac’s company, Elite Security. She’d deal with the Wedding Expo herself. It was ridiculous to want to hire a bodyguard. Really, a rivalry with another local stationery company was absurd. Why did she have to hire an actual security company to take her to a conference? She was?—
“What happened last year?”
Lucy froze, having made it all of three feet into her escape-to-the-safety-of-the-toilet plan. She glanced over her shoulder to find Cormac leaning back in his chair. God, he was terrifying. He’d spread his legs and rested his arm on the edge of the table, taking up way more space than he ought to. “Sorry?”
“You said last year was rough. What happened?”
“Oh.” She turned back to face him, toying with the strap of her clutch that dangled from her wrist. “Well, see, there’s this guy, Aaron Phillips.”
“The Stirling Stationery Man.”
She huffed. “Yeah. That’s what he calls himself.”
“I remember.”
Nearly a year and a half ago, at the Stirling Winter Festival, Aaron had confronted Lucy about her plan to attend her first-ever Wedding Expo. He’d been irate and threatening, but Cormac and Marlon had swept in and kicked him out of the festival. Lucy’s friends had crowded around her and made her feel better about the encounter, but she’d known, even then, that things would escalate.
And they had.
“Well, I ended up going to the Wedding Expo last year, as planned,” Lucy started. Her mouth was dry, and she tried to swallow. Teetering on her heels, she grabbed the chair next to Cormac’s and plopped herself down. Fingers tracing the subtle floral embroidery on the tablecloth, she said, “Aaron was there, and he glared at me the whole time. It was uncomfortable, but it was fine. I just ignored him and worked on giving out samples and trying to get some new clients. The Wedding Expo is a big deal.”
“Especially in Stirling.”
Lucy’s breath gusted out in agreement. “Especially in Stirling.”
Stirling, New Hampshire was a tiny town with a big reputation—for being the wedding capital of the country. The wedding season started in early June, and people flocked from all around to tie the knot in the small, picturesque town. Business ramped up in the fall, when the leaves turned a thousand shades of yellow, orange, and red, and then eased off in the winter, but it never stopped. Weddings were plentiful and varied.
Instead of fighting the reputation, the town had embraced it. There were wedding venues in hotels, old logging mills that had been refurbished to rustic-chic assembly halls, private barns, places of worship of every denomination, parks, museums—anywhere people could gather and celebrate the union of a happy couple, they did. In droves.
Along with the venues came small businesses. Dressmakers; florists like her friend Scarlett; bakers—of which Camilla was the best, in Lucy’s humble, not-at-all-biased opinion—photo booth rental companies; tent, chair, and decor rentals; caterers; planners; photographers; and, of course, stationery companies like Lucy’s.
Lucy had fallen into the business when her previous career ended in grisly, humiliating failure. She’d dusted off her graphic design skills, taken some classes at the local community college, and learned about weights of paper, quality of inks, and e-commerce websites. From the ground up, she’d built a business that now sustained her by creating custom stationery for weddings. From save-the-dates to invitations to seat maps and table name cards, Lucy designed, printed, and sold everything and anything paper-related that made a wedding come together.
She picked up one of the folded cards on the table, reading the name in gold script: Archer Jones. He and Cormac were the last two in their friend group to remain single. Emory had been the first to marry Maggie, a kind, gentle woman who Lucy only knew through her fiery friend Amelia. Amelia had tied the knot with Leo, and now Marlon and Camilla were celebrating their nuptials.
Lucy lifted her gaze to Cormac and wondered if he saw his friends pairing off one by one, hoping he’d get a chance to do the same.
She resisted the urge to snort. There was no way.
Cormac scanned the room like he expected an armed gunman to burst through the doors. And Lucy knew, just by the set of his jaw, that he’d be willing and able to take any threat down. He wasn’t thinking about wedding bells and babies, that was for sure.
As she watched him, Lucy’s shoulders relaxed. Cormac emanated a competent calmness that eased a knot in her chest. Nothing could go wrong when Cormac was on guard.
“Anyway, I ended up hiring this college kid to help me out with the Wedding Expo. He was mostly on his phone the whole day, but I didn’t mind. I doubt stationery is that interesting to a twenty-year-old guy. But then I went to the bathroom and told him to watch the booth, and I guess he ended up wandering off. When I came back, someone had spilled water over all my boxes of samples and products. Everything was ruined. I tried to stick it out to try to talk to potential clients, but I didn’t even have business cards to hand out. It was a complete waste of time and money.”
Cormac hummed. “You think it was Phillips who ruined your products?”
Lucy ran her thumb over the thick cotton cardstock of the name card, smiling bitterly. She’d spared no expense for Camilla’s wedding, and she wondered if anyone had even noticed how luxurious the name cards felt. Archer’s gilded name gleamed in the twinkling ballroom lights. “I know it was him,” she admitted. “He told me so himself a couple of days ago.”
“That’s what you meant when you said the Stirling Stationery Man declared war.”
“His exact words were, ‘If you show your face at the Expo this year, I’ll make sure you never sell another thing again. You have no idea whose toes you’re treading on. This is war, Barlow.’” Her voice wobbled when she said her own last name, and she tried to hide it by clearing her throat. “So there. That’s the backstory. Can you give me a quote? A competent bodyguard would probably scare him off.”
“Make an appointment at the office and we’ll figure it out,” Cormac replied before tipping his bottle to his lips. The lump on his throat bobbed as he swallowed, and Lucy wondered why that made her heart thump a little bit harder.
She glanced away. “Okay. I’ll call on Monday and make an appointment.”
“You do that.”
Nodding like one of those bobblehead figurines, she stood and wiped her damp hands on her silk-covered thighs. “Okey dokey then. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he answered darkly.
“Right.” A nervous laugh fell from her lips, and she finally made her escape to the blessed solitude of the washroom.
Cormac watched Lucy scurry away with vague disinterest. The bodyguard job was fine. He’d seen Aaron Phillips in the flesh and didn’t think much of the man’s threats. How did a self-proclaimed Stationery Man plan to wage war, anyway? Paper cuts?
He’d give her a quote and assign someone to the Wedding Expo if she agreed to his price. Then he’d collect the paycheck and go on with his life.
End of story.
Protecting others was something he’d made into a successful career, but only because he’d failed once, when it counted most. That lesson had cost him more than he was willing to admit, and he’d spent his life trying to make up for it.
He and Marlon had built a business based on their protective inclinations, and he attacked the job with ruthless efficiency. Work was work, and he was very, very good at it.
Outside of work, he protected no one but his mother, his sister, and himself.
With the index finger of his left hand, he touched the scar that marred his temple. Every time he looked in the mirror, it reminded him he’d failed.
These days, the only failure was not getting paid.
That’s the way he liked it, and that’s how it would remain. Lucy Barlow might be a pretty thing with shiny black hair and warm brown eyes, but as far as Cormac was concerned, she was just another client, interchangeable with any of the rest.
As he ran through the mental checklist that appeared in his head for onboarding a new client, Cormac realized he was bored.
Bored with the wedding. Bored with the job. Bored with the incessant edge that rode his nerves. He was always ready for a fight—ready to protect—and what had that gotten him, besides a business that didn’t seem to hold his interest any longer?
What if he’d worked his whole life to build this thing, only to discover it was utterly meaningless?
Marlon’s booming laughter echoed across the ballroom. He had his arms around Camilla, and he looked happier than Cormac had ever seen him. Come to think of it, Cormac hadn’t ever heard Marlon laugh like that. Camilla leaned against him, and Marlon leaned down to kiss her. They were in love, and it was faintly nauseating.
“Cheer up,” Archer said, clapping Cormac on the shoulder. “It’s a wedding. You’re supposed to be happy.”
Cormac grunted as his friend deposited a fresh bottle next to his near-empty one. “I am happy.”
Archer laughed. “And you said it so convincingly too.” He grinned, a slash of white teeth. Archer was a general contractor in town, talented and hard-working, with an innate ability to sell. Cormac imagined that particular smile made Archer a lot of money, in his time. The man inspired confidence even when he shouldn’t.
Cormac clicked his tongue, eyes darting to the hallway when Lucy reappeared.
His gaze tracked her as she ducked around a pack of people having an animated conversation. She nodded at someone and slipped by them, and she didn’t stop until she was in the corner of the room, beside a gigantic potted palm. She leaned against the wall and let out a breath, like she’d just escaped from the jaws of death with the barest margin of error.
Odd. And oddly endearing. No wonder she was afraid of a guy who sold paper.
“Hey now,” Archer warned. “That’s Lucy Barlow you’re staring at like a dog slobbering over a juicy steak. Camilla already warned me off.”
Cormac’s head cranked so hard he gave himself a sore neck. “What do you mean, warned you off?”
Archer shrugged. “She’s cute. Can you blame me?”
Cormac narrowed his eyes. “Stay away from her.”
For some infuriating reason, that made Archer laugh. “Camilla already gave me that speech, buddy. And she was scarier. What’s it got to do with you, anyway? Are you into her?”
“No,” Cormac clipped.
“Right,” Archer replied.
“I’m not interested in her.” And it was the truth. He wasn’t interested in anyone. Close relationships meant only one thing: more people to protect. The only reason he tolerated his friends was because they could take care of themselves.
But someone like Lucy? Some sweet, tender woman who jumped at the sight of her own shadow? That was a long road to Cormac’s personal hell.
“I believe you,” Archer said, sounding like he meant the opposite. “What about her?”
Cormac followed the jerk of Archer’s chin toward Scarlett Westbrook, the town’s newest florist. She’d been in Stirling a couple of years, but she’d probably be seen as a new arrival for the next decade or two. Small towns were friendly, but it took a while to truly integrate. He shrugged. “What about her?”
“She’s hot.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, but he meant it in a distant sort of way. Scarlett was tall, her head wreathed in brown curls, and had a loud laugh. She talked with her hands a lot, and he watched an elderly aunt dodge one of her gestures. His gaze traveled back to the gigantic potted plant and the woman hiding behind it. Amelia was there now, leaning her head against Lucy’s. Lucy smiled, and it softened every feature on her face.
There was something compelling about that softness; it should be cherished. Protected.
Shaking his head, he picked up his fresh bottle and took a sip. “You watch the game last night?”
Archer tore his gaze away from Scarlett and nodded. They fell into easy conversation, and Cormac made a point to keep his gaze away from the potted plant—and the woman who shielded herself behind it.
When the wedding wound down, he said his goodbyes to the happy couple, clapping Marlon on the back a few times when they hugged goodbye.
“Congrats,” Cormac told him. “You found a good one.”
“Aww,” Camilla said, curling her arm around Marlon’s elbow. “He said I was a good one.”
“It’s pretty obvious, sweetheart,” Marlon said, grinning at his bride.
Her face was flushed, and she looked like she was brimming with happiness. Overflowing with it, like the joy couldn’t help but leak from every pore. It sent a strange, squelching sensation through Cormac’s gut. That much happiness couldn’t be good for someone’s health.
Saying his goodbyes, he ducked out of the hotel into the cool night air. It was crisp and fresh as it filled his lungs. Though his eyes scanned the twilight for any shadows that looked out of place and catalogued the cars and people in the lot, Cormac felt more at ease than he had at the wedding reception.
Even standing in the same room as those people, he’d felt like he was on the outside looking in.
Keys in hand, he headed for his car. His back, feet, and head were sore, and he was looking forward to locking himself inside his home so he could finally relax.
But when he was behind the wheel of his vehicle, his gaze caught on a dark-haired woman crossing the parking lot. She stopped at a beat-up white car—Ford Focus, probably somewhere between eight and ten years old, he noted out of habit—and picked something up off the windshield. Cormac leaned over his steering wheel, watching as Lucy flipped open a small card and frowned at its contents.
A ticket? It didn’t look like a ticket. A flyer?
He glanced at his own wipers, which had nothing pinned beneath them. Casting his gaze back to Lucy, he watched her shake her head and enter her car. She put her purse in the passenger seat, started the car, and drove away.
A minute later, Cormac did the same. By the time he got home, there was an email waiting in his work inbox from Lucy, asking for that meeting they’d spoken about earlier. He checked his schedule and confirmed an appointment time for Monday. Best to get it over with quickly so he could move on.