“But you can’t.” Logan finished for him.

Liam lifted his head and looked over at his brother. “Which is something I can’t wrap my mind around because it’s been over a month. That’s always been plenty of time for me to bounce back…even with relationships that lasted years. Yet this woman, who I was around for thirty plus hours—some of that sleeping—I can’t bounce. So tell me what that’s about, because I’d really like to know,” he said, unable to keep his voice even.

“Shit, that makes two of us.”

“You want to hear the most pathetic part?” And this was where the anger he’d been feeling for the last six weeks started to boil over.

“Always.”

“Get me another beer and I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you what a complete and total jackass I’ve become.” What number beer was he on now? Nine or ten? He had no idea except for the fact that his buzz was making the transition to drunk.

Logan opened another bottle, passing it to Liam before he grabbed one for himself. “Okay, hit me with it.”

“I wrote a song about her for the new album.”

“Really?”

“Yup. The label wanted something more from me. Something that was different than anything I’d given them before. I showed them the song and they loved it. It’s the first one they want to release.”

“You’ve been playing it at shows?”

“Yup.”

“And how’s that going for you?”

“Reliving it over and over and over again? It’s fucking fantastic.” He took another mouthful of beer, trying to wash down the bitterness.

Didn’t help.

Singing that song made him feel like the world’s biggest schmuck. “Who knows? Maybe it will get to the point where it’s cathartic or something.”

“Or something,” Logan said with as little conviction as Liam felt. “You think she’ll know it’s about her when she hears it?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I think it’s blatantly obvious that it’s about her, but then again I thought it was blatantly obvious that there was something between the two of us. I was wrong on one account, wouldn’t be too shocking if I was on the other.”

“Okay, so let’s just say she hears it, and does figure it out, and for whatever reason finds you. What would you do if you saw her again?”

Liam had actually thought about this a lot. What would he do if he saw Harper again? What would he say?

“No idea.” He shook his head as he leaned back in the chair, looking up at the ceiling and the spinning fan above them. “Maybe walk away like she did.”

“You really think so?” Logan asked. “I mean you’re pissed, this is evident, but you’re also in love with her. Love makes a man do stupid things.”

“You talking from experience?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, I think I’ve already proven the stupid part in regards to her.”

“Yeah, and maybe you aren’t the only one. Could it be possible she felt the same way and ran scared? You did say she’d just recently gotten out of a serious relationship.”

“Possibly.” Liam closed his eyes, the spinning of the fan not making his head feel any clearer. “Doesn’t matter now. The only thing to do is move on.” He waved his hand blindly in the air. But his words came out hollow, no conviction. Because at the end of the day—infuriated with her or not—it didn’t feel done. He wanted to tell himself that was the alcohol thinking for him.

It wasn’t.

“I don’t believe that.” And apparently neither did his brother. “If you really thought it was done, you wouldn’t be this angry about it.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Oh no, of this I know. There are few women in the world that can inspire that much passion in a man. And I’ve never seen you like this before.”

Liam pulled his head from the back of the chair and opened his eyes. “Because nothing like this has ever happened to me before.” And as he stared out into the darkness he had a pretty good idea it never would again.

So really, anyway he looked at it he was fucked.

Royally.

*  *  *

Liam adjusted his tie for about the fortieth time that night as he scanned the packed ballroom of the Brogan-Meyers Hotel. What he was looking for? He had no idea.

The hundred or so tables filling more than half the room were covered with black tablecloths and gray roses. Fitting as black and gray were the Stampede’s colors. A deep male voice crooned through the speakers that surrounded the space, giving the people on the dance floor an excuse to pull their partners close. Waiters with trays of alcohol and the tiniest food he’d ever seen circled around the room.

“Stop doing that.” Adele swatted at Liam’s hand. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man fidget as much as you.”

Well what did she expect? He was not a suit kind of guy, and the long gray noose around his neck was beginning to get to him. But his sister had been insistent on the tie, saying he’d stick out like a sore thumb without one. His only consolation was that she’d let him wear his cowboy boots.

And yes, he did mean let him.

But really, arguing with her was pointless. One, she always won. And two, when it came to fashion, she was always right.

The girl had the unmistakable talent to capture any time period with a skilled perfection, and she tended to bounce around eras when it came to her own style as well. Tonight she had on a black and gold lace dress that he suspected was from somewhere around the fifties, though he wasn’t sure if she bought it or made it. Either was a possibility.

At the age of twenty-five, Adele was the head costume designer on one of the most popular shows on television. Ponce was the Florida version of Downton Abbey, taking place at the Ponce de Leon Hotel in St. Augustine during the early nineteen hundreds. It was full of more drama than anything he’d ever watched before, and yes, he did watch it.

What? It was his sister’s show. Plus, he wanted to know if Beauregard was going to end up with Abigail or Rosamund. His money was on Rosamund.

“Champagne?” A waitress stopped in front of them offering a tray of glasses.

“Please.” Adele smiled as she reached up to grab one. Liam’s eyes focused on the tattoo on her right wrist of a threaded needle and a stitched heart. Much to their mother’s dismay, he wasn’t the only James with an ink addiction.

“I’m good, but thank you.” Liam held up his glass of bourbon before he took a sip. The waitress moved on to the people next to them and he found himself scanning the room again.

“What are you looking for? An escape route?”

He turned back to his sister and shook his head. “No. Just looking around.”

“Mmm, hmm.” Her eyes narrowed and he suddenly found himself under the type of scrutiny that would make lesser men cower. Adele had taken more after their mother’s Spanish side of the family than their father’s Irish side. Her sharp golden brown eyes missed next to nothing, and baby of the family or not, she had the ability to make him squirm. “What’s going on with you anyway?”

“What makes you think something is going on with me?”

“Because I’m not stupid. And you and Logan sat out on the porch last night getting drunk.”

“We do that all the time. Besides you and Abby sat inside getting drunk. What’s going on with you?”

“Nice subject change.” She frowned at him before she reached up and pushed a dark brown curl behind her ear. Her hair was naturally straight, but she’d done something ridiculously complicated with it tonight. Some kind of fancy, curled and pinned just right, up-do thing that no doubt matched the era of her dress. And she pulled it off elegantly even with the tiny diamond sticking out of her nose and the streaks of bright red in her hair.

“I like to think so.”

“You’re a pain in the ass you know that?” Her frown deepened. “And I’m not going to be distracted, so what’s going on with you?”

“How do you know that it wasn’t Logan needing a drunken conversation? Something could be up with him.”