With a reckless heart, p.1
With a Reckless Heart, page 1
With a Reckless Heart
Yolande Kleinn
Published by Yolande Kleinn, 2024.
Copyright 2024 Yolande Kleinn
ISBN 978-1-946316-47-9
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
With a Reckless Heart | by Yolande Kleinn
Cover Design
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Further Reading: Something Borrowed
Also By Yolande Kleinn
About the Author
With a Reckless Heart
by Yolande Kleinn
It feels like a miracle when the long, winding road up the mountain finally spills out onto a massive graveled parking area. A rustic resort building stands at the far end of the lot, but even more reassuring than the fact that it matches his memory of the promotional photos online, is the hefty wooden sign proclaiming Pinewood Retreats. Exactly where he needs to be, despite the way every twist and turn of the journey made him wonder if his GPS was leading him astray.
Reuben Stolz is not generally a man to stress over details, but he's had a challenging couple of days. Considering the complications he's already faced down, including inclement weather and a near miss with the car rental at the airport, he spent the entire drive half terrified he would run into whole new hurdles and miss his daughter's wedding.
Now that he's here, he can finally breathe a little easier and take things in with a level head. With a full seven hours until the ceremony—and most of the out-of-town guests not yet arrived—there are surprisingly many vehicles already in the lot, all of them parked near the sprawling central lodge. Reuben slips into a space he hopes won't get parked in, letting the air out of his lungs in a slow exhale as he finally turns off the engine.
The sky above is so bright and cloudless that he squints against the aggressive blue as he climbs out of the car. The air carries notes of pine, freshly mown grass, even a hint of lilac, and Reuben breathes it all in as he stretches his legs, grateful to be stationary after an exhausting marathon of travel.
He knows his daughter adores nature. Even before she told him the official plan, he figured Tara's wedding venue would be somewhere secluded and spectacular. There's no shortage of beautiful views in Colorado Springs.
But somehow he still didn't expect to be driving halfway up a mountain in a rental car directly from the airport, wondering the entire way if the dubious road was going to disappear beneath his tires.
It doesn't help that he's jet-lagged to hell and back, after two separate flights with an unexpected twelve-hour layover between. He was supposed to land last night and make the drive in time to attend the rehearsal dinner. But there's no accounting for freak weather conditions. And with the lightning storm that delayed his second flight, he wasn't surprised to learn half the guests—and several of the wedding party—from Tara's side of the aisle still haven't arrived.
Tara has only lived in Colorado for three years, give or take. Reuben is not the only person traveling in from the Midwest.
He hopes like hell that everyone Tara invited from their extended family, not to mention a wide swathe of fictive kin, all make it in time. But he also doesn't have the bandwidth to worry about any of them right now.
A long, sturdy deck wraps around the entire front of the lodge, and the wood creaks beneath his steps as he carries his suitcase and garment bag through the front door. The lobby inside is two stories tall, and significantly more modern than the rustic exterior of the resort. Wide matching staircases wind up along the walls to either side of the big double doors, and right at the center stands a sturdy column of smooth stone—an electric fireplace, with an illusion of wood crackling cheerfully away, and glass panels on all sides to allow a full circle of seating around this central fixture.
When Reuben gets closer, he finds there's no heat emanating from the faux fire. But he can imagine how pleasant the arrangement must be in autumn or winter, when the air outside ranges from chilly to outright ice, and the heating elements turn on to accompany the dancing flames.
Footsteps from off to the right draw his attention just in time to set his luggage down on one of half a dozen matching maroon sofas—and then his daughter is in his arms, squashing the air out of him and burying her face in his shirt.
"You're here!" She says the words like even in her excitement she's scared of jinxing herself. "I was so worried you wouldn't get an early enough flight."
"I'm here," he agrees. He soothes a hand through Tara's hair, wraps his arms around her in return. Her broad shoulders shake a little, making him wonder if she's going to cry—he certainly won't tease her if she does, especially considering the sting of emotion threatening behind his own eyes—but when she pulls back, she's grinning wide and her eyes are dry. She stands at nearly the exact same height as Reuben himself, which means he can see every detail of the excitement written across her face, the dimple creasing one round cheek, the glint of sparkly eyeshadow.
She'll be wearing more dramatic makeup by the time the ceremony starts. But as far as Reuben's concerned, she could walk down the aisle exactly like this. His daughter is beautiful, and he's never seen her happier.
It takes him an extra beat to realize there's someone else standing beside them, and he lets go of Tara so he can turn a wry smile toward her fiancé.
"It's good to see you, Beau." He resists the urge to apologize for ignoring the man—surely Reuben can't be faulted for prioritizing his own daughter on her wedding day—and offers both a handshake and a wide smile. Beau's answering grin is even wider than Reuben's, as he accepts both with charming enthusiasm.
Beau Duestermann is a stocky bulwark of a man who looks like the sort who should try to assert dominance with all the strength in his massive hands. He doesn't, of course. He's too much of a golden retriever to bother with power games and intimidation. He's also a big man, round and muscular and so tall he makes Reuben feel dainty by comparison—an unlikely feat—Reuben Stolz isn't a small man. He's not used to looking up to meet someone else's eyes.
"You too," Beau says, then launches into the inevitable detour of polite questions. How was your flight? Have you eaten yet? Do you need anything?
Reuben does his best to conceal his fatigue as he answers Beau's clumsy but well-meaning interrogation. When he risks a glance toward Tara, he finds her watching the exchange with poorly concealed amusement, her mouth pressed into a thin line in an obvious effort not to laugh at her fiancé's earnest attempt to make a good impression. Reuben doesn't have the heart to interrupt and tell him this isn't necessary. That Reuben already likes Beau just fine and there's no need to try so hard. Something tells him it would be cruel to break the man's earnest momentum.
By the time Beau finally peters out, Tara is watching Reuben with a different sort of expression. Lower lip caught between her teeth as though holding back an apology, hesitation in the new set of her shoulders.
"What is it, kiddo?" Reuben asks into the first real quiet he's had since he set down his luggage.
"Nothing," she says, and it's an obvious lie. Then, "I feel like an asshole conscripting you when you just got here."
"Sweetheart," Reuben says, in a tone that conveys every ounce of his exasperation and fondness. "Let me help. I'll drop off my tux and my suitcase, take a quick shower, and then whatever you need, okay?" Yes, he's exhausted. Yes, he spent last night drowsing in an airport and then got an unsatisfying patchwork of sleep during a bumpy second flight. Yes, what he craves more than anything is a nap.
But it's a sunny ten o'clock in the morning, and he is full of coffee and wedding-day adrenaline. He's also the only official parent of either bride or groom in attendance today. He lacks any specifics, but he knows Beau's folks have been gone a long time, and Tara's mother has never been in the picture, which means a plethora of implied expectations will land on his shoulders by default, and Reuben has no intention of letting any of them fall.
Reuben can handle whatever task Beau and Tara have for him.
In his peripheral vision, Beau's expression shifts, an unmistakable flash of gratitude writing itself across a face that has clearly never tried to conceal a single emotion in his life.
Tara takes a deep breath, then lets it out so slowly that it's clearly an effort to ground herself. "Okay. Good. Yes. Thank you."
*
Which is how, forty minutes later, Reuben finds himself standing in a bright and spacious clearing behind the lodge, pressed into service decorating the outdoor venue for the ceremony.
Folding wooden chairs have been lined up in perfect rows to seat easily a hundred guests, and Reuben takes a moment to absorb this information. Only about a dozen people—primarily the wedding party—have actually been invited to stay in rooms at the resort. But even so, this is a space designed to accommodate a significantly larger crowd than Reuben expected. He knew Tara and Beau were planning for a large wedding. He helped fund this shindig. And still, it's a little overwhelming to behold.
Reuben's never been married. He doesn't know what it's like to sit at the center of a whirlwind like this. But it still boggles his mind when he tries to imagine the sheer logistics of inviting so many people to a wedding.
Inside, a small team of groomsmen are setting up for the reception. But here in this scenic space, a dizzying vista between vast slopes covered in pine trees, Reuben stands alone beside a pile of plastic tubs, trying to decide how to string tulle along chairs and fences and a wooden trellis. Ideally, he wants his efforts to look good, but he'll settle for looking like it was done by someone marginally competent.
If this were anyone else's wedding, he would expect the venue staff to handle the decorating. But he's too familiar with his daughter's DIY bent to be surprised that she's opted to do things the hard way. Hell, this probably would have been fine if not for the fact that nearly half the wedding party got stranded by the weather and hasn't yet stumbled into town. Reuben sure as hell isn't going to question his daughter's methods when she's already frazzled and overwhelmed.
He's unwinding an especially long stretch of gauzy material, trying to keep it from tangling or blowing away, when from behind him comes a soft, "Here, let me."
The voice is low and warm, tinged with an audible smile. And then a heartbeat later, quick hands pluck one end of the tulle from Reuben's grip. As soon as he's only got one end of the uncooperative length to deal with, Reuben is ready to concede that this should've been a two-person job from the start. Suddenly it's a simple matter to twist the fabric into an attractive configuration—just the right amount of swoosh and volume—and attach it to the backmost row of chairs with nearly invisible twist-ties.
Only once the entire length is secure does Reuben turn to thank his rescuer, and find himself face-to-face with a handsome young man wearing an E Street Band t-shirt.
The man is nearly as tall as Reuben, though compared to Reuben's broad shoulders and stocky build, the stranger is all lanky limbs and sharp angles. He has a handsome face, dark freckles, sharp jawline. A wild riot of curls, brown but tinging copper in the sunlight, gives him a chaotic aspect, but he stands with easy reserve, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he surveys their work. Even his profile is striking, a narrow nose and high cheekbones above an impish mouth.
When he turns to study Reuben in return, his eyes widen as though he hasn't actually looked yet and is surprised by what he sees. Then his gaze dips lower, dragging along Reuben's frame in a sweep so brazen and appreciative that for a moment Reuben doubts his own senses.
It's not as though the reaction is unfamiliar. Reuben's accustomed to garnering glances, most of them admiring. He's been getting even more than usual since he finished installing his home gym—a project years in the planning and a delight to finally have complete—and can let off steam by lifting weights whenever he wants.
There's no way he looks his best in this particular moment. He caught a glimpse of the deep circles beneath his eyes in the mirror, the inevitable result of his night of poor sleep. And after his shower, he dried his hair impatiently, without any effort at styling. He hasn't shaved since yesterday morning, which means his silvery stubble has moved well beyond the five-o'clock-shadow stage. But he must look good enough to turn a head regardless, judging by this involuntary perusal.
When his new companion's gaze jolts back up to his eyes—a guilty start followed by a blush that is far too charming to be reasonable—Reuben lets a slow smile spread across his face, enjoying the way it makes the man blush even deeper.
"Thanks for the help," he says, not quite brave enough to say anything outright flirtatious before he's even introduced himself. He extends his hand in greeting. "I'm Reuben."
The young man blinks at him for a moment—glances down at Reuben's hand like the gesture has startled him—then belatedly accepts and returns the handshake.
"Dusty. I'm Dusty. Sorry for being so..." He gestures with his free hand, as though to encompass the frozen strangeness of a moment before. "I swear, I'm not usually a creep. Hopefully I'll have enough time to prove it before we all climb back down this mountain."
"You don't need to prove anything." Reuben lets his expression soften, releasing Dusty's hand and surprised at how reluctant he finds himself to let go. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
Dusty's grin spreads wide and dazzling. "Likewise."
"Great. So." Reuben gestures toward the tubs full of decorating supplies, transparent plastic showcasing a veritable chaos of white, gold, and blue. "Do you have any idea what the actual plan is for all this stuff?"
"Nope." Dusty shrugs. "Let's wing it and see what happens."
*
Reuben fully intends to ask how Dusty fits into the arrangement of wedding guests—whether he's a friend of Beau or Tara, whether he's local or flew in from out of state, if he made it to the reception last night. It's not as though Reuben plans to do anything about the unexpected and immediate attraction sparking between them. Sure, he's been known to indulge a casual liaison now and then, but his daughter's wedding is neither the time nor the place. But Dusty is gorgeous, and enthusiastically chatty, and Reuben finds himself wanting to know him better.
Before he manages to interrupt the almost frenetic flow of Dusty's conversation—before they've even managed to finish sorting through the tubs of decorations to come up with a plan—a new noisy cluster of twenty-somethings emerges from the lodge. They descend across the clearing with a dizzying sweep of energy and focus, laughing among themselves and greeting Reuben and Dusty with the distracted air of a team on a mission. Reuben recognizes only a couple of them, but he doesn't stress overmuch when he misses some of the names. No one else seems especially concerned with anything beyond whipping the clearing into shape, and he's just as happy to step back and let someone else guide the process.
On the one hand, Reuben is relieved the crowd arrived when it did, before he could make a hash of the decorating process. On the other hand, being surrounded by half a dozen energetic strangers who can't be older than twenty-five is a lot. It makes Reuben feel every single one of his fifty-three years, all the way down to his jet-lagged bones.
Dusty can't be much older than this gaggle, and he's not quieter exactly, but he's a steadier presence, and Reuben sticks close to him as the decor gradually comes together.
If Dusty takes this as a different sort of encouragement and keeps throwing him conspiratorial smiles, well. Reuben is fine with that too.
He tries to remember the names of all the people who introduce themselves during the hour that follows. But without any additional context—and with so much information coming in at high speed—he loses track almost as soon as he hears the names. Melody. Jackson. Mija. Sal. Reese. Avani. Bo. As he tries to keep track of who already knows each other, who else is meeting for the first time, how they all fit into the bigger scheme of the day, his brain dances across the details without retaining any of them. The names trickle through his brain and all but evaporate, leaving only Dusty occupying an outsize portion of Reuben's awareness.
A sliver of Reuben's brain acknowledges he is being ridiculous. Maybe he can blame fatigue for just how easily he finds himself distracted by the man's bright, slightly lopsided smile. And hell, he is exhausted. He can feel it in the fog at the edge of his thoughts, the ache in his limbs, the heaviness suffusing his whole body.
As soon as their current task is done, he should try to sneak away for a nap. A short nap, followed inevitably and immediately by asking Tara what else he can do to help. But if he doesn't get some sleep, he'll never make it through the ceremony and reception—and what's the point of being here at all, if he's too tired to enjoy his daughter's wedding day?
At least the weather is perfect, warm enough for shirt sleeves, despite the fact that the sun has crept behind a new wash of cloud cover. Those clouds obscure all but the nearest adjacent peaks, and the cool breeze that brought them is soft and pleasant after an hour of working hard. Even with the new hint of chill rolling in, Reuben finds himself overheating enough to unbutton his cuffs and roll his sleeves up to his elbows.
The pleased thrill that runs through him when he catches Dusty staring at his bared arms is an unexpected bonus, and he grins at the visible blush that rushes all the way to where the tips of Dusty's ears peek out from beneath thick curls.
