His gut tightened. Now that he wasn’t looking into her luminous eyes, a few reasonable questions kicked in. Could she and her fiancé be friends of Bobby Joe? Holy cow. Were they attending the engagement party? He’d never reviewed the guest list, figuring he wouldn’t know the names since he didn’t live around here but in Tennessee. There seemed to be countless guests by this point on the other side of the French doors.

Just as Parr was about to guide her in, the doors swung open. A stocky older man in formal wear came through.

“Daddy!”

“Mary Beth!”

Parr stepped back. The gray-haired man and the strawberry blonde stood stock still for a moment, staring at each other.

“Where have you been, girl? We’ve been worried sick over you. I was about ready to call the police.” His handsome face glowed a heated red.

“I’m fine, Daddy. I needed to get away from my ex-fiancé.”

“Ex?”

“I gave him his ring back tonight. Actually, I threw it at him.”

Her father was momentarily at a loss for words. Then he finally noticed the tall stranger behind his daughter. Parr was clearly with her, though he no longer had an arm around her.

“Daddy, I want you to meet someone.”

Her blithe tone didn’t match the agitation Parr knew she was feeling. That sense of trouble ahead grew stronger.

The two men exchanged assessing glances before extending their hands.

“This is . . . this is . . .” She glanced desperately at Parr, who took the initiative. At least he would finally learn her full name. He had the first two, common enough in the south—Mary Beth. The ticklish introduction taking place distracted him from wondering why the name rang a bell.

“I’m Howard Caine. She only ever calls me Dad, of course.”

“Parr Weston, sir.” He gave a particularly hearty handshake to make up for her memory lapse.

“I ought to have recognized you!” Howard exclaimed in relief. “And here I was thinking that Mary Beth was with some stranger.”

There were a few minutes of manly small talk that she didn’t seem to hear. They stayed off the subject of the ex.

It was Mary Beth’s turn to step back. The man who had kissed her was a stranger. What on earth was her father talking about? She met Parr’s dark eyes across the little distance she’d put between them.

He had just said his name was Parr Weston. . . .

It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t be.

“Thank the Lord you found her.” The country-southern voice belonged to the plumply attractive woman who joined them near the doors. “Bobby Joe’s half out of his mind. We couldn’t make head nor tails out of anything he said.”

“It seems your other son found her, Alma,” Howard told Parr’s mother.