From the Start Read online

  Dedication

  For my dear friend, Gloria Jones.

  Her love for Myrtle Beach and Duke University

  are just two of the fingerprints she left on this book.

  Sometimes I think Michael MacGregor

  was as much her creation as mine

  since her stories helped shape the character he became.

  Rest in peace, my friend.

  You will forever be in my heart.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Acknowledgments

  An Announcement to Once and For All

  About the Author

  By Cheryl Etchison

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter One

  May 2013

  Kacie Morgan raised the cloudy glass tumbler to her lips and licked the course salt from its rim, all the while surveying the bar, knowing she was officially in hell. Despite it being a fairly new establishment—and a nice place as far as bars went—it just wasn’t her scene. The cowboy hats and cowboy boots. The painted-on jeans that both the men and women wore. The line dancing and mechanical bull.

  Then there was the fact she couldn’t stand country music. She might have been born and raised in the South, but the appreciation for songs about racing pickups down red dirt roads, getting drunk on Jack, and skinny-dipping in farm ponds must have skipped a generation.

  She sighed and turned back around, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror behind the bar.

  Dear God in the heavens. She shouldn’t have looked.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and tossed back the remnants of her margarita on the rocks. A tang and tart shiver raced the length of her spine, her body squirming involuntarily to shake it off.

  Her empty glass met the cow-print bar top a little heavier than intended, the upside being it garnered the bartender’s attention. “Another?” He shouted to be heard over the music.

  “Sure,” she said. “Why the hell not?”

  He came over to clear away the empty glass and his eyes roamed her chest as he took his damn sweet time to read the front of her shirt. She didn’t have to glance at the mirror again to know the club lights ignited the rhinestones across her shirt, the word bridesmaid glimmering in the relative dark like a ’70s disco ball.

  “Eight weeks,” she chanted to herself. “Eight. More. Weeks.”

  Just eight weeks until the bachelorette weekend, the holiday weekend, the rehearsal dinner, the wedding, all of it would be over. Her baby sister would be happily married and, more importantly, her maid of honor duties would be complete. No longer would she have to be overly friendly to women who were not her friends. No longer would she be guilted into wearing questionable attire or spending money she didn’t have on all of the cutesy little things they wanted her to “chip in” on.

  Kacie handed the bartender a few bills as he returned with her drink, then resumed leaning against the bar, watching as the country music gave way to hip-hop and the puritans bolted for the bars and seated areas. In the span of a few minutes, the dance floor became an instant bump and grind session for anyone under the age of twenty-five or with more than a few drinks in them.

  In a sea of cowboy hats and baseball caps, her baby sister was easy to spot. The rhinestone tiara with attached veil on her head glittered in the pulsing lights as she bopped around the dance floor. And all the other bridesmaids were right there with her.

  If she were a better maid of honor, a better big sister, she’d suck it up and join them. But she just couldn’t find it in herself to move. Ever since her well-planned future with a man she loved—or at the very least thought she loved—had taken a deep dive into the toilet nine months earlier, she found having fun an almost impossible feat. How sad. How pathetic.

  With a pang, Kacie realized at the age of thirty-one she’d become what she always feared most—a total buzzkill.

  Michael MacGregor stared at the wooden double doors leading into the historic brick warehouse and tried to will himself inside. Far older than most of the revelers partying along Savannah’s River Street, he was suddenly feeling every bit of his thirty-five years; the last place he wanted to spend his Saturday evening was in a country bar with a bunch of twenty-somethings. But this was where his sister-in-law wanted to celebrate her birthday: enjoying live music, doing a little line dancing, and maybe even taking a ride on the mechanical bull.

  So he was here. For her.

  “There are worse places in the world than a country bar,” his brother, Danny, had said when he called with the invite.

  That was definitely true. He’d spent his fair share in them during his five years serving as the 1st/75th Ranger Regiment’s battalion surgeon. In that time he’d been deployed, along with his younger brother, to Afghanistan and Iraq, to Western Africa, and to a few other places neither could speak of.

  His phone chimed in his pocket and suddenly he found himself wishing there was some kind of minor emergency that would save him from going inside.

  You better be coming to my party. Don’t you flake on me.

  He laughed and shoved his phone back in his pocket. There were very few people in the world willing to call him on his shit, but his sister-in-law, Bree, like a sister for most of his life, was certainly one of them.

  Hip-hop music assaulted his senses as Michael paid the cover charge and made his way into the crowded bar, stopping at the edge of the dance floor to survey his surroundings. Almost immediately he was spotted by Jeff “Gibby” Gibson, who waved his arms so wildly Michael would’ve thought he was in dire need of medical attention. But really, that was just Gibby. The man didn’t know the meaning of the word subtle.

  Michael must have taken too long to acknowledge him, because the next thing he knew, Gibby was making his way across the dance floor. He paused momentarily, turned to a crowd of women in matching shirts surrounding one woman in a tiara and white veil, and waved for them to follow.

  Shit. A bachelorette party. He was too sober to deal with this at the moment. Not so Gibby, judging by the glassy look in his eyes.

  “Doc!” Gibby shouted once he was within a dozen feet. “Just the man I was looking for!”

  Within a matter of seconds Michael found himself surrounded by a crowd of very young, very beautiful, very inebriated women. And if he didn’t feel old before he walked in here, he sure as hell did now.

  “I got someone I want you to meet,” Gibby shouted over the music. Then he turned and took the hand of the cute brunette wearing the veil.

  “Oh, hell, no,” he said, almost immediately backing away.

  “Get your head out of the gutter, man. It’s not like that.” He turned and smiled at the bride-to-be. “This is the guy I was telling you about,” he said, slapping Michael’s chest.

  “Oh, hey!” The veiled one stumbled toward him with her hand held out in greeting. “It’s nice to meet you.”

&n
bsp; Reluctantly, he took her offered hand. “Likewise.” She was a pretty girl, especially when she smiled, but something in his gut told him things weren’t quite right.

  “I need a favor.”

  He immediately dropped her hand. “I don’t think so, sweetheart. I’m not really interested in helping you celebrate your last night as a single woman.”

  Her eyes widened, and then she began to laugh . . . and laugh, and laugh, finally placing a hand on Gibby’s shoulder just so she wouldn’t fall over as she bent over at the waist and laughed some more.

  “Well, that’s quite the ego boost,” Michael muttered to himself.

  Finally, her laughter subsided and she wiped the tears from her cheeks as she looked at him. “I didn’t want you to do me! I want you to do my sister!”

  He shook his head, unable to believe his ears. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  She waved her hand. “I didn’t mean it like that. Well, I do, but—” She waved her hand again as if that was going to magically erase all she’d said. “What I mean is that my sister is here, she’s not having any fun, and I’d like it very much if someone would show her a good time.”

  At a loss, Michael looked at Gibby for help, but his fellow Ranger was currently occupied with not one but two bridesmaids.

  “We’re going to try out the mechanical bull,” one of the ladies said.

  “Okay,” the bride-to-be answered. “I’ll be right there.” Then she turned back to him. “Seriously, you seem like a nice guy. I’d really appreciate it if you’d go say hello to my sister. She’s over at the bar and will be easy to spot.” She pointed to the far side of the venue. “I’m gonna go ride a bull.” And then with another laugh she disappeared into the crowd.

  Michael shook his head in disbelief. He’d had plenty of women throw themselves at him during his lifetime, and in his younger years he’d obliged his fair share. But to be offered up the wallflower, the outsider, the loner of the group? Uh, no. Taking on a pity date was the job of a wingman. And he never played the wingman.

  With a sigh, Michael weaved his way through the crowd, finally locating Bree and Danny seated at a large round table along with fellow Ranger Ben Wojciechowski and his wife, Marie. Immediately, Bree rose to her feet and threw her arms around his neck.

  “It’s about time you showed up!” she yelled.

  He wrapped his arms around her waist and gave her a squeeze, lifting her a few inches off the ground, just as he’d always done since they were kids. As he set her down, a waitress came over with a tray full of shots, lime wedges, and a saltshaker.

  Bree clapped her hands and grabbed two glasses from the table. “You’re just in time.”

  “I don’t think so,” he said, trying to avoid the shot she was holding out to him.

  Bree raised an eyebrow. “You have to. It’s my birthday.”

  Michael laughed at that. After all, she wasn’t his wife. “I don’t have to—”

  “I’d do as she wants or she just might cut off your cookie supply,” his brother interrupted smoothly.

  Michael’s gaze drifted from his brother, to Bree, to his secondary cookie supplier, Marie, who was shaking her head. And then he saw Ben, who was fighting to hold the laughter in.

  “Fine,” he said, taking the glass. “Then allow me to make the toast.” He raised his glass and waited for the others to join him. “To the best sister any man could ever ask for. May the coming year be even better than the last. Happy birthday!”

  Bree’s smile lit up the room as the others chimed in with birthday wishes of their own and clinked their glasses together. Then after a quick tap to the tabletop, Michael tossed back his shot, choosing to forgo the salt and lime. He placed the empty on the table and glanced around for the waitress.

  “If you’re wanting something else to drink, it’d probably be quicker to go to the bar,” Danny said as if reading his mind.

  Michael asked the group if they needed anything, and when he was met with nos, he headed for the counter. As he was searching for an open space, sparks of light caught his attention. After a moment, he realized he’d found the lone bridesmaid.

  The bright club lights glinted off the rhinestones on her shirt as she leaned back against the bar with one foot resting on the low brass railing that circled the bottom. His gaze traveled the length of shapely legs in short shorts upward to the now-familiar tank top. Her wavy blond hair was piled high on top of her head, exposing the length of her neck and the curve of her shoulder. While she looked to be older than the rest of the bridesmaids, she was by no means old. And she was, in a word, gorgeous.

  Clearly, he shouldn’t have been so quick to dismiss the bride-to-be’s request. And really, what kind of man would he be if he let such a beautiful woman spend her evening standing all alone?

  “Can I buy you a drink?”

  Kacie looked at the full drink in her hand to the glassy-eyed cowboy standing in front of her. Actually, swaying in front of her would be more accurate.

  Disheveled and more than a little dirty looking, she guessed he was a good twenty years older than her. In other words, much too old for most of the single women in the club. He leered at her chest while drinking from his longneck and she fought the urge to crisscross her arms over her breasts. Damn rhinestones. Never in her life had her B-cups garnered so much attention.

  “I’m fine, thanks,” she replied, waving her nearly full glass in his obvious line of sight. Hopefully, that would be enough to get him moving along to somewhere far away from her.

  No such luck.

  He stumbled a few steps closer.

  “You’re a pretty little thing, ain’t ya?” His breath was a mixture of stale smoke and cheap beer.

  She didn’t want to cause a scene. Really, she didn’t. Although she’d run this gauntlet during her college years with drunken frat boys, she was a bit out of practice now. And back then, there’d been safety in numbers, a friend or two nearby to help you out of a jam.

  “Thank you, but I really need to—” She tried to squeeze past him, but found herself effectively trapped, hemmed in all sides by bar stools and other patrons now crowding the bar.

  His fingers wrapped around her upper arm. “No need to run off now. We’re just gettin’ to know each other.”

  He stepped closer and she matched his movement with a step backward, the edge of the bar now digging into her spine, the pain well worth it just to gain those last few inches of separation. She glanced to either side hoping someone, anyone, would make eye contact and come to her rescue.

  Figures.

  Her chest had been flashing like a lighthouse beacon all damn night and now when she needed a little assistance there was none to be had.

  Oh, well. A good old-fashioned knee to the groin should do the trick.

  She levered herself from the bar, prepared to strike, when all of a sudden the drunk’s eyes went wide and he stumbled backward.

  Chapter Two

  With a firm grasp on the guy’s shoulder, Michael yanked backward, setting the cowboy off balance. He wanted to do more. Seeing the wariness in her eyes was enough to make him want to pound the idiot’s face in. But starting a bar fight wouldn’t do his military career any favors. Not to mention it likely wouldn’t make the best first impression either.

  “Hey, beautiful,” he said, placing himself between her and the drunk and quickly offering her a chaste kiss on the cheek. “Sorry I’m late. I saw your sister when I came in and she told me I’d find you over here.” He searched her eyes, hoping she’d catch his hint and somehow sense that his intentions were honorable.

  She glanced at the drunken wannabe-suitor and, perhaps deciding he was the lesser of two evils, turned her attention back to him. One corner of her mouth lifted in a smile. “About time you showed up.”

  Michael gave her a wink and felt a sense of accomplishment when that half-smile widened into a full-blown stunner. Emboldened by her playing along with his little act, he took the glass from her hand. “Whatcha d
rinking?”

  “Margarita on the rocks. And it’s terrible.”

  He kept his eyes locked on hers over the rim of the glass as he took a cautious sip. But before he was done, the idiot recovered, giving him a hard shove from behind, sloshing the drink all over Michael’s hand and nearly down the front of his shirt.

  “Who the hell do you think you are just shoving your way in here?” the man shouted. “We were talking!”

  Michael calmly reached past her and placed the glass on the bar before facing the cowboy. “Oh, I’m sorry. Were you under the impression I interrupted something?” He turned slightly, talking to the bridesmaid over his shoulder. “Sweetheart, this guy seems to think you were interested in him.”

  Her expression became one of pure innocence. “I don’t know what gave him that impression.”

  Again, the drunken cowboy gave Michael a forceful shove, tempting him to drop the idiot with a right cross to the jaw. “Don’t do that,” Michael warned as he reached back with his hand and guided the bridesmaid out from behind him. “Why don’t you go find your sister,” he said to her. The last thing he wanted was for fists to start flying with her pinned between him and the bar.

  But instead of releasing his hand, she held on tight. “I’d rather you came with me.”

  He was considering doing just that, simply leading them away from the conflict, when a second drunken cowboy appeared from nowhere, making their exit a little more difficult. “There a problem here, Billy? This asshole hornin’ in on your date?”

  “I am not his date.”

  Michael looked over at the bridesmaid and grinned, impressed by her spirit. Despite her petite stature, he’d bet that with all the fury clearly coursing through her veins, she could single-handedly drop this guy like a sack of rocks. Which admittedly was one hell of a turn-on.

  “Easy there, sunshine,” he said to her.

  The two cowboys, however, weren’t as amused. Instead, they squared their shoulders in an attempt to appear more threatening and took a step closer. If there hadn’t been a slight drunken sway to each of them, Michael might have been a bit more concerned. He could handle them if need be, but he found himself distracted by the gorgeous little thing that still held his hand.