The Kidnapped Christmas Bride (Taming of the Sheenans Book 3)(6)

By: Jane Porter

And just like that, the tears were back, and the knot of hot emotion. She clung to her handsome big brother, fingers digging into his arms, needing the support. “I miss them,” she whispered against his chest. “I miss them so much, Rory.”

“I know, kiddo. I know.” His voice dropped low, his tone husky. “But I’m sure they are here with us today. I’m sure they’re looking down on you, as proud as anything.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, Kenna, I do.” He stepped back and kissed her on her forehead. “Now no more tears. You don’t want to mess up all that make up.” He glanced at Paige who was picking up McKenna’s heavy train. “Does this mean we’re ready?”

McKenna smiled through her tears. “I think so.”

“Then I’ll round up TJ and meet you in the vestibule.”

Chapter Three

Trey sat in his truck in front of Marietta’s St. James Church watching the second hand on his watch, aware of every passing minute.

Two minutes after four o’clock.

Three minutes after four o’clock.

If the four o’clock candlelight wedding had started on time, McKenna would already be down the aisle, at the front of the church, getting ready to say I Do in front of Marietta’s most respectable citizens.

It would be a beautiful ceremony. The bridesmaids would probably be wearing red. It was a Christmas wedding after all.

Four minutes after four o’clock.

If he was going to do this, it had to be now, before she’d said her vows.

He grimaced, aware that his appearance would be problematic. McKenna was not going to be happy to see him. No one was going to be pleased by his appearance…not even Troy, who was sitting inside with his librarian girlfriend.

Common sense and decency forbad him from interrupting McKenna’s wedding.

But Trey apparently had neither.

He glanced down at his watch. Five minutes after four o’clock.

If he was going to do this, he had to do it.

He drew a deep breath, feeling the snug blazer pull across his shoulders. The jacket was too tight. The trousers a little too fitted. It wasn’t his suit. It was Troy’s, and if the hand sewn label inside the jacket was any indication, very expensive.

He didn’t have to dress up today. One didn’t need to be in formal wear to interrupt a wedding, but he wanted to be respectful. This was McKenna’s big day. So he’d borrowed his brother’s suit, and paired it with a black dress shirt, but had passed on the tie—he wasn’t a tie guy. He was wearing black boots with the suit because those were the only dress shoes he owned, but he did feel a bit like Johnny Cash, The Man in Black.

Today the black shirt wasn’t a fashion statement.

Today he’d dressed for a funeral. McKenna marrying Lawrence was an end…the death of a dream. But he wasn’t going into the church to fight, or to protest. He just wanted to speak to McKenna, to make sure she’d recognize his rights as TJ’s father. Because he could maybe—just maybe—accept losing McKenna, but he couldn’t wrap his head around losing TJ.

TJ was his boy. His son. His flesh and blood.

He loved that boy, too. Fiercely. Completely.

But that didn’t matter in a court of law. Not when McKenna had sole custody, just as she’d had sole custody from the beginning, and let’s face it, no judge would ever take him from his mother, not when the mother was as good as McKenna, and the father as rotten as Trey Sheenan. Or so said Judge McCorkle when he gave McKenna sole custody all those years ago.

Six minutes after four o’clock.

He hadn’t slept last night. Couldn’t sleep after failing to find McKenna earlier in the evening. And even though Troy and Dillon had warned him off, Trey had gone looking for her. He had to. He had to talk to her—not just about her choosing Lawrence, but about TJ, and what would happen to TJ once she married another man. So after showering and changing at the ranch house yesterday afternoon, he’d grabbed the keys to his truck—which still ran thanks to his brothers taking care of it—and headed back to Marietta to try to find McKenna.

He’d searched for her without success. She and TJ no longer lived in the old apartment complex, the one by the Catholic church. Part of him was glad—it was a crappy neighborhood—but he didn’t know where they’d gone and the few folks he asked either didn’t know or weren’t about to tell him.

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