The front door opened, followed by stomping feet and men’s voices, one deep, the other quiet. “It’s Nate!” Lily pulled away, grabbed Harry’s hand, and dragged him toward the voices.

Nate Desantro stood just inside the door, dark hair damp from snow, winter jacket covering a navy suit. And were those wing-tip shoes on his feet? Damn, no way. Harry moved closer, homed in on the shoes. Yup, they were wing-tips all right. He met Nate’s gaze, nodded his approval.

“Not a word, Harry. Not a word.”

Did the guy think he’d make fun of the shoes? Hell, no. The choice was damn impressive. Harry would have pegged the guy for a dress loafer type, but only if forced. He slid his gaze to the man beside Nate. Small build, thin, gray hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and a pencil mustache. “You must be the justice of the peace.”

“Winston Hardin,” the man said in a voice that belonged on stage.

Talk about articulation. “Harry Blacksworth.” He thrust a hand at the man, surprised by the firm grip. “So, did Nate personally escort you here?”

Winston Hardin turned four shades of red. “Seems I was driving a bit too fast for the current road conditions and slid in a ditch. Nate called the tow company and brought me here.” His gray eyes turned bright behind his glasses. “He said he was not going to miss his own wedding.”

Harry winked. “Sounds like a man in love.”

Nate scowled and changed the subject. “Christine and Mom aren’t here yet?”

Harry didn’t miss the near panic in his voice or the worry on his face. “They should be here any minute. Relax, okay?” But there was no relaxing a man worried about his woman, at least not according to what Harry could tell. There was only one thing that might help the poor guy settle down and it came in a bottle. “I could sure use a drink.”

He didn’t have to say more than that. Nate led them to the kitchen, pulled out three shot glasses and a bottle of whiskey. By the time Christine and Miriam arrived ten minutes later, Lily was sipping hot cocoa with tiny marshmallows and the men were downing their second shot.

At least Nate wasn’t pacing the room or hyperventilating with worry over his bride-to-be’s safety. Nope, Harry had him calmed down and it only took two shots and a promise to talk to Christine about “winter driving dos and don’ts.” She was a good driver, but Nate said she could be better and how could she refuse her uncle’s request? Smart man. He wasn’t even married yet and he was learning the art of compromise and keeping your mouth shut while still getting the job done. Yup, compromise was the deal maker or breaker in a marriage. Not that Harry knew anything about what made a marriage, other than what he’d heard, but he sure as hell knew what didn’t make one. All he had to do was stand in Gloria Blacksworth’s presence for four minutes and the reasons smothered him. Christine was nothing like her mother. Thank God the woman couldn’t hurt her daughter any more. Distance and Nate Desantro would see to that. Damn straight they would.