HAVE WEDDING, NEED BRIDE!

Wedding planner Zoe Smart is getting a reputation for being a jinx. The worst part is, the rumors may be true. Zoe’s last two brides bailed on their grooms, so she really needs cowboy Carson Grant’s wedding to go off without a hitch, aside from the one in her heart every time they meet.

Though Carson knows he has to tell Zoe the wedding’s canceled, he doesn’t want to give the town’s wagging tongues more fodder. Besides, Carson is having way more fun planning a nonexistent wedding with Zoe than he ever did planning his real one. But time is running out to tell the truth. Will Carson’s ruse charm Zoe’s romantic spirit, or will their love be jinxed from the start?

“It’s simple, really. I just want a good guy.”

Carson raised an eyebrow at her. “The guy who would recognize what a great person you are, and support you in whatever path you take. The guy who would fight for you, would love you with all his heart and never leave you no matter what happened. The guy who can’t think straight when you’re around him, who can’t breathe when he spots you from across the room, who gives his all to you, no matter what the circumstance. You’re his end, his beginning and in the middle all he wants is to love you. That guy?”

Zoe had to come out of the lusty fog he’d put her in to answer him. She let out a sigh and said, “Yes. Him.”

Never had Zoe been so confused over her emotions for any man in her entire life. The fact that he’d just verbalized everything she had ever dreamed of in a partner had caught her completely off guard. It was as if he’d read her innermost thoughts and put them all out there just to see how she would react.

Dear Reader,

I’m so excited to introduce you to Carson Grant, town rodeo hero and big brother to four fiercely independent sisters. With all those women in his life, corralling his true love should be a cinch. But until his accident in the rodeo arena, marrying the wrong woman seemed like the right thing to do. That is, until she dumps him only weeks before exchanging vows. Now he can’t seem to bring himself to tell anyone, including his gorgeous wedding planner, Zoe Smart.

Briggs, Idaho, is once again awash in Christmas, and this time there’s more love in the air than snowflakes. The season has always been a magical time for me, so writing about it was as easy as opening gifts on Christmas morning. I absolutely loved creating a playlist of my all-time favorite Christmas tunes, hitting shuffle on my phone, closing my office door and immersing myself in another snowy Christmas in the Teton Valley.

I hope you enjoy reading about the residents of Briggs, Idaho, and that Carson and Zoe warm your heart this holiday season.

Until next time, you can visit me at maryleo.com, where you’ll find a few fun facts about Idaho’s Teton Valley along with some of my favorite Christmas cookie recipes. While there, please sign up for my newsletter to get info on my latest books, upcoming events and giveaways. You can also find me on Facebook and Twitter. Come on over so we can chat.

Till then, I wish you a heartfelt Merry Christmas and a prosperous New Year!

Best,

Mary

A Christmas Wedding for the Cowboy

Mary Leo

www.millsandboon.co.uk

USA TODAY bestselling author MARY LEO grew up in south Chicago in the tangle of a big Italian family. She’s worked in Hollywood, Las Vegas and in Silicon Valley. Currently she lives in San Diego with her husband, author Terry Watkins, and their sweet kitty, Sophie. Visit her website at maryleo.com.

For my son, Richard Pryde Hughes III, in anticipation of his wedding day.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

All at once the excitement of the rodeo came crashing in around Carson Grant, filling his senses with the familiar sights and sounds. The steady beat of loud, badass country music heightened his focus as he readied his bronc, Red Comet, for the ride. Every seat in the large arena was filled with enthusiastic fans who cheered, whistled and clapped as a decked-out Miss Rodeo, sitting high on a black stallion, raced from one end of the rodeo ring to the other holding up an American flag three times her size. She electrified the air and Carson thrived on the buzz. Even his horse, a deep-brown-colored mare, seemed to be fired up.

“Easy boy,” he said as he firmly patted Red Comet’s neck. The horse blew out air, took a step back and turned his head slightly to check out Carson. Once the animal seemed satisfied with what he saw, he bent a knee and faced forward again.

“You got yourself the luck of the draw tonight,” the cowboy attending Carson’s chute said as a wide grin spread across his weathered face. “He’s awful twitchy tonight. Might be wise to ask for anther bronc.”

“Meant to be,” Carson answered, knowing perfectly well that Red Comet was the best bronc in the bunch, the bronc that could give him the highest score. For the past two years, if Red Comet’s rider wasn’t bucked off during the mark out, he’d usually score in the high eighties or low nineties, and Carson intended to be one of them.

He took in a deep breath, savoring the combination of rich earth, manure, sweat and determination as he leaned over Red Comet, giving a tug on his bronc saddle to make sure it felt snug and secure. Adrenaline ripped through his veins as the usual rodeo-high took over his mind and body. It was almost as if he was one with the night, supercharged and eager to go.

The fans whistled, clapped and laughed at Barney the clown, wearing his monster-sized bright green Western hat, a matching shirt and checkered pants. The clown joked with the announcer as the other saddle bronc riders prepared themselves for the event. Carson knew he would have no problem outscoring the entire group. He was on track once again to make it into the top fifteen saddle bronc riders in the country. Once there, he’d qualify for the NFR Championship in Vegas. Getting the winning score tonight would give him a large enough purse to place him four or five holes from the top, and from there he would win it all. He was sure of it.

When Carson saw the third horse in front of him go, he zipped up his vest, tucked the flank strap flat under the saddle, marked his hack rein, checked that his stirrups broke half over the horse’s shoulders, secured his cream-colored hat on his head and climbed up the metal rails on the side of the chute.

“Ready to rock and roll,” he said to the cowboy over the chorus of cheers that went up for the bronc rider who’d scored an eight point six. The announcer yelled out the score as the jumbotron closed in on the last rider’s smiling face, and the supersized neon sign displayed his numbers in fluorescent yellow.

The cowboy helping Carson held fast to the bronc’s neck rope as Carson eased himself onto the saddle while holding on to the swell and slowly dropping his legs on either side of Red Comet, careful not to rile the horse. He slipped his right foot into a stirrup, making sure it hit his boot in the correct place, then leaning to one side he grabbed the hack rein and slid his left foot into the other stirrup.

Red Comet threw his head back, snorted and tried to move forward, hitting his nose on the metal bars. The cowboy held him as steady as he could, but Carson knew the horse was anxious to break out of his restraints.

“Easy there, buddy,” Carson said in a reassuring voice. The horse whinnied, took a step back and seemed to accept the command. Once Carson had eased his butt down in that saddle, he knew dang well it was the most dangerous time for both the horse and the rider. Carson’s heart thundered inside his chest as the pickup men escorted the rider right before him out of the arena. It was now Carson’s turn and he was ready to win. The faster he could get out of the chute, the better his chances at a high score. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out as he thrust his chin down to his chest, held on to the rein with one hand, held up his other hand and gave the signal.

Red Comet exploded out of the chute and bucked with his head up, exactly as Carson had expected. The mark out was perfect, with Carson keeping his feet well above the bronc’s shoulders as Red Comet’s front hooves hit the ground for the first time. The jolt racked his body, and his butt popped up off the saddle, then came crashing back down, hard. He leaned back and braced himself for the next one.

When the horse bucked again, everything went wrong in an instant. Carson had allowed his mind to drift, and in that split second, the horse went down with shocking suddenness, and Carson went down with him, hitting the ground with such force that it took his breath away. For a moment it seemed as if the entire arena fell silent, and all Carson could hear was Red Comet’s heavy breathing, along with his own heartbeat drumming in his ears. Dirt shot up his nose and filled his mouth with its gritty, acrid taste. His breath came in short spurts, and he seemed to be pinned under the tremendous weight of the horse. He heard screams and gasps from both the fans and the other cowboys as Red Comet struggled to right himself.

Carson couldn’t move his left leg, his shoulder burned with an intensity he’d never felt before, and even though he’d spit out dirt and blood, he still couldn’t catch his breath. All he could think of was getting out of there, of standing and walking off the arena floor, but his leg was still pinned under Red Comet. Panic began to creep up his spine. He refused to let it take hold, and as his horse continued its struggle to stand, Carson somehow managed to roll free. The quick movement brought on a wave of intense nausea that he tried desperately to control. No way was he going to vomit for somebody’s home video.

He told himself to calm down, that help was on the way, but the fact that he couldn’t take a deep breath kept him on edge, kept the panic knocking around in his head.

Then, as thundering hooves shook the ground, and a flash of bright green crossed his path, Carson’s entire world faded into black.

Chapter One

Three months later: December

Carson Grant emerged from yet another sleepless night with one thought on his mind: Marilyn Rose Connor, his fiancée, had called off their wedding. Not only was his body bruised and battered from the bronc riding accident in the arena, which almost killed Barney, a rodeo clown who had tried to save him, but now his heart had been hung out to dry.

He’d known things hadn’t been good between him and Marilyn Rose for months. But he thought they could work it out, talk it over, see a counselor or, at the very least, argue.

Apparently, that wasn’t what Marilyn Rose had thought. She wanted it over, plain and simple. No talks. No therapy, and under no circumstances would she argue. Going over the past two years of their love affair, he couldn’t remember one moment when she’d fought with him over anything. Even when he’d forgotten their anniversary and inadvertently stood her up for dinner at some fancy restaurant in Las Vegas. When he’d finally caught up with her, she’d merely pouted for a few minutes and let it go.

He had expected a bit of fire, a few harsh words, a verbal slap, but Marilyn Rose didn’t believe in arguments of any kind. She viewed an argument as a failure in the relationship and therefore under no circumstances would she fall into the trap of angry words.

Carson had mustered up a few of those angry words last night when, cool as a breeze coming off a snowcapped mountain, she’d handed him his engagement ring, which he had refused to accept. Instead of lashing out or pleading like a puppy dog, he’d left her sitting at a table inside Sammy’s Smokehouse at the edge of town and somehow managed to walk the five blocks home, in the icy snow, alone, totally dependent on his cane to see him through. She’d followed him, calling out to him to please get in her car, but eventually, after he ignored her pleas the entire way, she drove off right before he opened his front door.

“Dang fool,” he mumbled to himself.

Carson rolled over on his back and stared up at the blank ceiling wondering why he’d never taken the time to do something interesting to all that emptiness. When he was a kid, he’d taped every poster he could find of his favorite saddle bronc rider or bull rider or generic rodeo flyer on his bedroom ceiling. He’d spend hours lying on his bed, staring up at the rodeo stars, dreaming of the day when he’d be one of them. Why was it that when you grew up posters on your bedroom ceiling became taboo? Who made up the adult rules, and why? He would have liked to stare at something right now other than white nothingness. To be able to focus on something positive instead of all the negative crap that spun around in his head, keeping him from thinking straight and keeping him from sleeping.

He blew out a sigh and shoved a hand under his head, realizing that posters of saddle bronc riders would only make him more stressed right now, especially if they were of him, which was one of the reasons why he rented this house in town. The walls at his parents’ ranch house were littered with framed photos of his rides, his awards and his “promising future” as a saddle bronc rider from the time he’d won his first buckle to just before his last ride.

He stopped himself from musing any further. He wasn’t going to think about that last ride. Not now. Not this morning when he’d just been dumped with less than a month to go before his wedding. Couldn’t she have called it off before they’d sent out the invitations? Before all those people had started sending gifts?

At least she dumped your butt before you were standing at the altar waiting for her to happily walk down the aisle.

He thought about his sister Kayla’s wedding day and what a fiasco that had turned out to be, and decided this was probably some kind of cosmic payback...that he fully deserved. He still felt bad for Jimmy Bartley.

“Poor sap probably never saw it coming.”

At the time, Carson had been focused on his sister’s misery and her not wanting to go through with the wedding. Now, after being dumped, he knew exactly what Jimmy Bartley had felt: total humiliation.

He knew his sisters could change their minds on a dime, but he’d never thought any one of them would actually change her mind minutes before one of the biggest decisions of her life.

But then this wasn’t the first potential marriage for Kayla. He’d been the one who’d rescued her out of the first one, as well. Seemed he did a lot of rescuing for his sisters over the years. Probably more than his fair share. And where did it get him?

“Dumped by your fiancée, that’s where,” he said out loud.

He could use a little rescuing right about now.

Unfortunately, he knew he wasn’t the type to accept it or he’d be recovering comfortably at home with his mom and sisters doting on him day and night.

The mere thought of all those women bringing him food and fussing over his battered body was way too much for him to think about much less allow. Nope, he’d much rather be sulking on his own until he could figure out his next step. He didn’t want or need anyone’s care, apparently not even his own fiancée’s.

Careful to not sit up too quickly, he slid out of bed with deliberate care. His head still wasn’t right from the concussion he’d suffered, and he was sure his shoulder would never be the same after the torn rotator cuff and broken collarbone. Even though his doctors had assured him he’d be as good as new in a few months, Carson realized “good as new” wasn’t in the cards for him. Not this time. He’d suffered a lot of injuries since he’d started the rodeo circuit, but none had been this devastating. His ribs still ached from having been cracked, and if he tried to put all his weight on his left leg, the pain in his thigh would sometimes bring him to tears. His thigh bone had been cracked in four places, and if it wasn’t for the metal rod that held it all together, he probably wouldn’t be able to walk.

But none of that mattered this morning.

What mattered was that Marilyn Rose had come all the way to Briggs, Idaho, right before the Vegas Nationals, where she was a shoo-in to win a buckle and a substantial purse for barrel racing, to extinguish the only light that still burned in his otherwise bleak life.

“At least she’d had the decency to tell me to my face,” he said as he slipped on a robe over his T-shirt and pj bottoms to keep warm in the chilly, essentially empty house.

He’d rented the two-bedroom bungalow a couple months back thinking he and Marilyn Rose would furnish it together, would call it home for the next year or two when they weren’t on the road pursuing championships to keep their dreams alive. Unfortunately, Marilyn Rose had never stepped one foot into his house and even last night she’d insisted they meet at a restaurant.

He should have known something was up as soon as she’d suggested Sammy’s, but he’d been so excited that she was finally flying in for a visit that he hadn’t considered anything other than a heart-to-heart conversation on how they could make their relationship work.

“Dang romantic chump,” he mumbled as he made his way out to the kitchen, rubbing his two-day-old beard while walking past the stacked wedding presents that had begun to arrive on a daily basis. He’d opened the outer boxes on a few of them, but hadn’t unwrapped anything. Now there they sat as a reminder of his failed attempt at love.

He really needed that first cup of strong black tea and a dose of his drugs to ease the pain that still racked his body.

He’d stopped taking heavy pain meds about a month ago, replacing them with over-the-counter types that at least allowed him to move around freely. He wondered if he could find something on the drugstore shelves to help ease his broken heart...or was it more his broken ego? Nothing made much sense anymore. It was almost as if his emotions had somehow gotten tangled up with his physical discomfort and he could no longer tell which was hurting more.

The doorbell rang before he could get to the kitchen and instead of answering it he proceeded to his destination, put the teakettle on, poured a glass of orange juice and dumped out his pills on the cluttered counter. He wasn’t much for keeping things tidy and had hired a cleaning service to come in once a week to manage the place, which seemed to make him only more careless.

Ding-dong.

He figured either it had to be another wedding present being delivered by an energetic UPS driver, or it might be Sal Hastings ringing his doorbell. Sal was his eighty-two-year-old neighbor who liked to drop by to remind him they needed to clear the fresh snow from the sidewalks and walkways out front. Whenever even one snowflake fell, Sal revved up the old snowblower and proceeded to clear off the entire block. Carson had no choice but to help him. If Sal collapsed blowing snow off his walkway, Carson would never forgive himself. Besides, Sal had been a rock to him while he’d been recuperating. He hoped it wasn’t more snow; he couldn’t be loopy while handling machinery with a senior citizen in tow. He’d tried it once and nearly ran over Sal’s right foot.

Ding-dong.

“I’ll be right there,” he yelled at the closed door. He glanced out through the sheer curtains on the front windows and didn’t see the familiar brown UPS truck, which meant that Sal was ringing the bell. Problem was, he really didn’t want to deal with Sal this morning. He needed time to brood and feel sorry for himself. The thought of conversing with another human being was like a heavy weight bearing down on his shoulders. He hoped Sal would somehow get the telepathic message, lose interest and go away.

Unfortunately, Sal, being a determined, persnickety senior, was now knocking on Carson’s door. Quick little jabs of noise sparked through his already-aching head, causing him more pain than he wanted to suffer.

So much for Sal’s foot.

He downed his medication and the juice, pulled in a deep breath and headed for the front door, hoping Sal would be scared off by his disheveled look and ornery disposition. The snow could wait this morning, at least until he’d had his tea.

He yanked open the door ready to tell Sal he wasn’t in the mood to clean sidewalks, but standing in front of him, with two feet of snow piled up on the walkway behind her, flashing those innocent, pure brown doe eyes of hers, was Zoe Smart, his wedding planner. She looked all warm and cozy wearing a white knit hat over long fire-colored waves that cascaded down the front of a tan quilted jacket. Her tight jeans clung to every curve, while high chunky gray boots warded off the cold and snow.

He wished now he’d never opened the door. Granted, she was pleasant to look at on this dark and gloomy morning; however, this cowboy wanted nothing to do with her, and especially her wedding plans.

She gave him a once-over, an eyebrow went up, and he could tell she wasn’t happy with his appearance, but then he wasn’t too happy with hers, either. What was she doing knocking on his door so early in the morning looking so perky and organized and, well, cute as a button?

“We had an appointment at ten o’clock today,” she said, sounding much too chipper for his dour disposition. “Your fiancée made it about two months ago. I confirmed it with her last week. We were supposed to go over the final details of your wedding. If this is a bad time, I can—”

“Wait. What time is it? Are you early or am I late? And why didn’t anyone tell me the meeting would be at my house?”

He’d last seen Zoe Smart when she’d been waiting for his sister Kayla in front of St. Paul’s. He had driven his sister to the church, as he’d promised Zoe the night before at the rehearsal dinner, but when it came time for Kayla to get out of his SUV, she wouldn’t budge. The whole way to the church, he’d tried to convince her that Jimmy Bartley was her soul mate, but Kayla would have none of it. He’d learned long ago that once his baby sister made up her mind, nothing short of divine intervention was going to change it.

He clearly remembered Zoe’s stunned expression when he’d driven away that morning with the bride still sitting in the backseat of his SUV, sobbing uncontrollably. In fact, he hadn’t been able to stop watching the wedding planner in his rearview mirror, noticing her shoulders slump, and her head moving from side to side in disbelief. It was almost as if their gazes were one in that frozen moment. Suddenly he wasn’t sure whom he felt worse for, his confused sister, Jimmy Bartley—patiently waiting at the altar inside the church for his beautiful bride—or their wedding planner. He knew Kayla had put Zoe Smart through hell changing her mind at least five times about every little detail.

Since that horrible day, he had deliberately steered clear of Zoe and made up excuses to his fiancée as to why he couldn’t attend any of the meetings about their wedding. If he’d known about the meeting today, he would have done something to get out of it. Yet here he was, staring at Zoe Smart standing in his doorway.

Whatever Marilyn Rose and Zoe planned for the wedding had always been fine with him. Carson had simply nodded and agreed whenever he was asked a question. The wedding details were his fiancée’s responsibility. His job was planning the honeymoon.

Damn. He’d made the final payment and confirmed their two-week Hawaiian trip just last week.

“In order,” Zoe began, “it’s now past noon, so you’re extremely late and in the realm of standing me up. I don’t usually make house calls unless I’m invited, which I was not. However, I tried calling you, but you didn’t pick up. Also, I couldn’t leave a message, because you’ve reached your limit on your cell phone. You should really take care of that. It’s annoying to your callers. I tried texting, and again no reply. You left me no alternative. You and your fiancée have to decide on your flowers for the church today or you might not be able to get what you want.” She paused a moment as if considering his appearance and foul mood. “But again, if this is inconvenient for you, I can try to hold the florist off for another day or so.”

He stared at Zoe and smiled as he ran a hand through his tousled hair, trying to make some sense out of his mixed-up life. Normally, he would invite her inside where it was relatively warm. Unfortunately, there was nothing normal about this situation, so Carson decided to ignore his good manners and left her out on the front stoop, a condition she should be somewhat used to from their last encounter.

“No, this is, um, convenient,” he told her, lying. It was a horrible time. The absolute worst time. There couldn’t be a more pitiful moment for his wedding planner to show up asking him to decide on flowers for the church. There would be no church. No flowers. No wedding. No bride. Just a pathetic, broken-down cowboy wondering what had happened to his promising life.

Carson absentmindedly let out a sigh, then caught himself before he told her the truth of the matter. He wasn’t about to blurt out that his fiancée had dumped him, so the entire town would know that not only was he still home licking his physical wounds from his last competition, but the one woman he thought he’d lassoed for life had discarded him like a pair of old boots. He could only imagine all the sympathy meals and phone calls he’d get for that one. Besides, there was no way he was ready to face his family with the news, even though they’d probably be delighted. Marilyn Rose’s dour personality never did sit well with his easygoing folks and siblings.

Nope, before he told Zoe Smart the wedding had been called off, he needed a shower, a cup of tea and a little snow blowing with Sal.

“Let’s meet in your office in, say, three hours. Will that work?” he asked, trying to sound as positive as his muddled brain could muster.

“That’s perfect. It will give me time to set up everything I want to show you and Marilyn Rose.”

He started to tell her that his fiancée wouldn’t be there, but instantly changed his mind. They said their goodbyes, and as he closed the door, he hoped three hours was enough time to pull his thoughts together and prepare for the onslaught of questions he would no doubt have to find answers for during the next few weeks, leading up to Christmas Day. It wouldn’t be so bad if he hadn’t announced to the entire town last Christmas that he and Marilyn Rose were engaged and planned to get married on Christmas Day the following year.

Her idea, not his.

Most definitely not his.

But now she’d called it off on the exact day he’d proposed a year ago. Dang, he would try to keep that little detail to himself.

* * *

“SOUNDS TO ME like you done fell into a barrel of shucks and can’t get yer’self out of the bottom of that there barrel,” Sal offered as he and Carson shuffled along behind the noisy snowblower. Carson held on to the handle and Sal directed their movement up the walkways and driveways. “You gotta start thinkin’ of how to break free of all them shucks. They’ll suffocate ya after too long.”

The snowblower sputtered and Sal hit it with a long stick he kept handy. They methodically moved forward, pure white snow piling up along the outer edges of the sidewalk. The streets were empty, but plowed clean. Most of the cars were tucked away in garages or pulled up into the driveways so the plows had an easy time of it. Ever since Carson had moved back to town, he’d learned the rhythm of its people and tried to comply. He no longer parked his SUV on the street, pulled his garbage cans in after the trucks emptied them and had learned to be friendly to his neighbors, Sal being the result of that friendliness.

“I wanted to work it out, but she didn’t want to hear it,” Carson said as he pushed the blower along his other neighbor’s front walkway. They’d already cleared both their own and now they were onto the rest of the block. There were ten houses on their block and it usually took them about an hour and a half to get through them all. He had a feeling today’s cleanup might take longer, but he didn’t mind. Talking to Sal was already helping his sour mood.

“Workin’ it out with a woman who already moved on ain’t reasonable. It’s like tryin’ to convince the wind not to blow in a hurricane. Ain’t no negotiatin’ with somethin’ that already is.”

Sal had a way of putting everything into perspective. “But I’m still in love with her.” The words came out more as a defense rather than an expression of his true emotions.

“Is that a fact?”

“Of course it is,” Carson insisted, even though he wasn’t sure about anything anymore, including his feelings for his now ex-fiancée.

They walked in silence for a while, the roar of the blower drowning out any other sound. Carson favored his left leg and Sal shuffled his feet as the two men made their way up the sidewalk. They were quite the pair.

Then Sal shook his head as if he was giving his thoughts a jump start. “Seems to me not too long ago you was tellin’ me how your feelin’s for her was slippin’ away. Now that she don’t want you no more, that love done returned? Better think what love is, son, ’cause it don’t sound as if it’s sittin’ in your heart the way it should.”

Carson knew he hadn’t felt the same for Marilyn Rose for a long time, but he’d made excuses for it. Nothing seemed right since he’d had to step away from rodeo life. Not only had he been busy second-guessing his relationship with his fiancée, but he’d speculated on what life would be like if he never went back into an arena, never went back to rodeo. If he worked the family ranch instead. Maybe he’d had enough of saddle bronc riding, of torturing his body, of never being home more than a few weeks at a time. Maybe he needed a change. That simple thought had sent his ego spiraling downward.

If he wasn’t a bronc rider, who was he?

“My heart’s heavy right now, Sal. I don’t know what I want or who I love.”

“Only one person you gotta love. It’s the only way you can pull yourself outta that there barrel.”

The blower sputtered again and Sal banged on it several times. This time, it hesitated, coughed and blew out a red bow from one of the many Christmas decorations on the front lawns and lining some of the walkways. The Christmas season had arrived on Howdy Street and everyone had taken the time to string lights, put up trees and wreaths, and with so much snow had created elaborate snowmen on their front lawns... Everyone except Carson. Now the chances of him celebrating the holiday with even one holly twig seemed remote.

“I already love you, Sal. Heck, I don’t need to love anyone else,” he teased as he draped his good arm around Sal’s shoulders and pulled him in closer for a moment, almost knocking both of them to the ground. Despite Sal’s height, at least six feet, he was as fragile as a bird and couldn’t weigh more than a grasshopper. His winter clothes engulfed him as if he’d shrunk down a few sizes, and his rubber boots rode his spindly legs like hoops around a stick.

“Thanks, but I’m not talkin’ about you lovin’ me. I got a whole brood of family who love me more than I can keep track of. I’m talkin’ about you lovin’ yer’self, son. Seems you forgot how. I know it’s not somthin’ a cowboy thinks about, but it’s somthin’ that either comes naturally or it’s somethin’ you gotta wrangle. You remind me of a sapling. Time to tie you to a stick to keep you upright or you’re gonna fall over and die.”

Carson chuckled at the old man’s analogy. He knew dang well that men from Sal’s generation acted mostly on reason, grit and lust. Where Sal got this whole notion of loving himself was beyond what Carson could grasp. It seemed almost as if Sal’s open-minded tolerance was tangled up in an older person’s body, and his thoughts poured out in a cowboy dialect that reminded Carson of all the old-timers he’d met on the road.

“I’ll take that under advisement, Sal. Thanks for the kick.”

“Whatever I can do,” he said, then he whacked the snowblower with his stick a couple times as they continued up the sidewalk.

* * *

EVENTUALLY CARSON GRANT showed up in Zoe’s small office located inside All About A Bride, a bridal shop owned by Greta Green, distant cousin to Milo Gump, who owned Spud Drive-In, and Belly Up Tavern. He looked like his normal self—incredibly handsome and ready to win his next buckle...kind of. So maybe he still had a limp, used a cane and couldn’t seem to lift his left arm without wincing. Zoe was sure the man was itching to get back in that bronc saddle and make the people of Briggs, Idaho, proud.

“I thought your fiancée would be with you today,” Zoe commented as he took a seat in the empty black chair next to her. He wore a dark blue shirt, a black tie, a dark blue suit coat, jeans and black Western boots. By his somewhat formal attire, Zoe concluded he took wedding planning seriously. It wasn’t what she expected, given he’d been absent for the majority of previous meetings.

They sat in front of a round glass coffee table loaded down with binders that contained swatches of fabric, vendor business cards and photos of past weddings. Her laptop was open to Carson’s account with a depiction of what he and his fiancée had already agreed upon. They wanted a country wedding, complete with a country DJ who would play some of the older hits.

“Something came up,” he said, shifting his eyes away from hers just as Piper walked into the room. Though Piper was Zoe’s opposite in almost every aspect, when it came to the love of a beautiful wedding and business acumen, they were in total agreement. Everything else about Piper, Zoe had learned to accept. Well, everything except Piper’s lack of any kind of thought filter. If something bounced around in her head, she usually had no qualms with dumping it on anyone who happened to be within earshot. Zoe had asked her a thousand times to please lock those thoughts away until a more agreeable moment, but most often Piper simply couldn’t control herself.

“I heard Marilyn Rose was in town last night but left in a hurry,” Piper said, causing Zoe to cringe. Apparently, this was one of those uncontrollable times. “Everything okay with you and your sweetie pie?” Piper asked as she took the seat next to Carson, the seat that was designated for his fiancée.

Except for her cowgirl black boots, Piper was dressed entirely in black Goth today, complete with lacy long sleeves on her silky blouse, which she wore under her black lace-up corset. “Zoe and I don’t want to be putting out all this effort, and spending all your hard-earned money, if you two are on the skids. When I was buying my morning muffin and coffee over at Holy Rollers, Amanda Gump told me she saw you storm out of Sammy’s Smokehouse last night well before your fiancée. She said you walked home in the snow, alone. Is there anything to that lonely, cold walk you want to share with us?”

Zoe held her breath and waited for Carson’s answer, her heart beating madly. If he cancelled now, Zoe wouldn’t be able to pay the rent on their office. Greta was already charging them half of what the space was worth, but she’d certainly draw the line if they stopped paying altogether, especially right before Christmas. Then there was always the storage facility they kept outside of town that held all their merchandise and supplies like folding chairs and tables, silk flowers, various types of vases, paper umbrellas and a myriad of decorations their clients could rent for a fraction of the cost of buying from local retailers.

“I’m sure Carson wouldn’t be sitting here if something that unfortunate had happened. He would’ve told me straight-out when I knocked on his door earlier to remind him of our meeting.” Zoe felt hopeful. Logic told her she was right and everyone else was merely jumping to their usual negative conclusions.

Piper donned a sly grin. “Oh, I don’t know. Guys don’t generally like to admit romantic defeat.” She turned back to Carson and waited for his answer.

He hesitated for what seemed like minutes, causing Zoe’s stomach to sour from all the healthy green juice she’d consumed earlier that morning. Then he leaned forward in his chair, clasped his hands together, resting them on his injured thigh, and said, “I’m going to ignore that bit of town gossip and get on with my wedding plans.”

Zoe instantly let out the breath she’d been holding, while Piper rattled on about whether or not to have red or white poinsettias in the church, as if everything she’d just insinuated had never left her lips.

“Personally, I think either one would do,” Carson said, looking a bit overwhelmed.

Piper pushed on. “Maybe we should wait on this meeting until your fiancée returns. After all, we’ll be deciding the details of seating arrangements, and any last-minute changes to the itinerary, and—”

“She left me in charge...for now anyway,” Carson said, cutting her off. “Marilyn Rose isn’t one for a lot of fuss. And since she, um...didn’t really want a fancy wedding in the first place, and only agreed to it because of my family, I get the honor of choosing all the last-minute details while she’s off winning the Nationals in Vegas. My sister Kayla can help if it comes to that.”

“No, that’s fine,” Zoe said, probably faster than she’d meant to, but having Kayla decide anything would be worse than if he simply called the whole thing off. The woman’s indecision on her own scuttled wedding had not only cost Zoe money and time, but had given her chronic heartburn, which she had only recently overcome. “I’m sure you can handle all the decisions yourself.”

Piper’s face reflected her doubt.

Carson turned to Piper, looking somewhat offended by her obvious eye roll. “What? You think the groom can’t make these decisions?”

Zoe knew this conversation wasn’t going in a positive direction. Piper could be caustic when there were any changes to the original plan. She was one of those steadfast people who didn’t like spontaneity of any kind. Whereas Zoe could easily lose focus with the slightest breeze, which was just another reason why they worked so well together and had been friends for so long.

They complimented each other’s personality quirks.

“I think it’s refreshing to work with the groom, especially when it seems that the bride is busy with her exciting career,” Zoe added. “If she scores well in Vegas, she’ll come away with one of the biggest purses in the history of her sport. Her complete focus needs to be on excelling and it shows a total trust in your union that you’re here today making the final choices for your wedding. Besides, most of the big decisions have already been made. All that’s left are a few incidentals that I’m sure we can take care of in no time.”

Piper slid back in her chair and let out a skeptical sounding, “Uh-huh.”

Zoe ignored her. Carson apparently hadn’t noticed Piper’s petulance and instead seemed to be zeroing in on Zoe’s optimism. His striking face brightened. The change in his demeanor was astounding and Zoe felt the tension she’d had in her shoulders relax.

“Can I get you anything before we start?” Zoe asked Carson. “Water? Coffee? Beer?”

He hesitated and briefly cleared his throat. “A cup of black tea with milk would be great.”

Piper stood. “Comin’ right up,” she said with a touch of snark to her voice. “Tea for the cowboy.”

While Piper busied herself with Carson’s tea, a beverage Zoe never guessed a rough-and-tumble guy like Carson would ever drink, Zoe brought up their website and began showing Carson possible floral arrangements for the church. The weird thing about being that close to Carson Grant was the fact that if he wasn’t her client and getting married in a few weeks, she would be swooning all over him.

She’d had a crush on Carson ever since they were kids. The town was big enough that she had never known him personally when they were growing up, but she’d seen him around enough to be drawn to him even then. Plus, his riding abilities were legendary. When he became the grand marshal for the annual Fourth of July parade three years ago, she couldn’t help but be attracted to him sitting up there on that majestic black stallion.

He’d always been the town catch, even if she’d never seriously been in the running.

Piper had told her to make a move on him back then, and she had, but it hadn’t worked out the way she’d hoped. Asking for his autograph was not exactly what Piper had had in mind, especially when Zoe had been just one of many women who’d stood in line that day.

When he’d shared some family secrets with her at Kayla’s rehearsal dinner and then assured her that he’d get his sister to the church for her wedding, Zoe had felt they’d made a connection, at least on a friendship basis. But when he’d driven right past the church with his sister crying in the backseat, all thoughts of friendship quickly faded. If they had been friends, he surely would have stopped and allowed her to talk to Kayla.

Now he was getting married to the darling of the rodeo circuit, and Zoe was planning their wedding. She was thankful for the business, but if she had a choice, she would rather be preparing a wedding for just about anybody but the man sitting next to her.

Still, if there was any truth to what Piper had said about him and his fiancée being on the skids... But that was impossible. What woman in her right mind would give up on Carson Grant?

Certainly not his fiancée, his soul mate, Marilyn Rose.

Chapter Two

“I haven’t told anyone yet,” Carson said to his cousin Father Beau Grant, one of the priests at St. Paul’s. “No, wait, that’s not entirely true. My eighty-two-year-old neighbor Sal knows.”

St. Paul’s Catholic Church had been built to reflect the art of the day, with a high, ornate ceiling, gilded gold-leafed cornices and a long railing that separated the sanctuary from the rest of the church. The pinnacled, decorated altar stood under a colorful stained-glass window reminiscent of the rose window in Notre Dame Cathedral in France. The limestone building with its arched, colorful windows depicting St. Paul in various stages of his life was one of the first churches built in the Teton Valley. A fact Carson had learned from his cousin Beau during his altar boy days when Beau had chosen to spend most of his Sunday mornings inside the church rather than helping out on the ranch. It was right around that time when Beau had confided in Carson that he wanted to be a priest, preferably at St. Paul’s.

His dream came true two years ago when Father George, who’d been getting up there in years, requested a smaller parish from his bishop, and Father Beau was finally able to come back home.

“You confided in your neighbor,” Father Beau reasoned, “but you can’t tell your wedding planner?”

Father Beau, a full three years older than Carson’s twenty-nine, had grown up on the Grant ranch with Carson, but hadn’t taken to full-time cowboying. Instead, he’d only ever wanted to be a priest. Carson never understood the calling, but always admired his cousin for believing in his dream and carrying it through.

“I’m sure white poinsettias would look best,” Zoe said as she stood near the altar, just far enough away so she couldn’t hear what Carson was saying to his cousin. He nodded his agreement while he held his cream-colored Western hat in his hand. “And some white hydrangeas, and maybe some white baby’s breath along the stairs to the altar, where you and Marilyn Rose will be standing.”

“Sounds good,” Carson said, raising his voice so she could hear him. The large church propelled his reply back to Zoe and sounded almost heavenly.

“I can’t condone lying,” Father Beau reasoned. “That’s just wrong on so many levels.”

Father Beau stood at the same height as Carson, six feet three inches tall, with the same slim build, and aside from their different attire—Father Beau in his black cassock and white collar—they both wore black Western boots. Nothing could take the cowboy entirely out of Father Beau, no matter what clerical garment he wore.

“I’m not asking you to lie, exactly. I’m merely asking you to keep your distance from Zoe so you won’t blow it for me until I’m ready to come clean. Besides, you owe me.”

Carson didn’t think that was too much to ask considering their history. Beau had skipped out in the middle of the night on more than one occasion to meet up with friends when they were teens and Carson had always covered for him. The way Carson had it figured, life had come full circle.

“And why aren’t you ready now? Seems like this is the perfect time. You’re in a church. I’m a priest. And Zoe Smart is gearing up for a wedding that isn’t going to happen. She’s been down this road with the Grant family before. Do you really think it’s okay to do it to her again?” Father Beau stared at Carson as a curious look washed over him. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to attempt to change Marilyn Rose’s mind. You’re not seriously thinking you can win her back, are you? You tried that once in high school with Lana Thomson and she ended up cheating on you the entire time you two went steady.”

Secretly, Carson had to admit there was a part of him that believed Marilyn Rose would come to her senses and run back to him, pleading for a second chance. That it was just some kind of ploy to get him to pay more attention to her and stop feeling sorry for himself. Both of which she’d told him the previous night. Harsh, but more truth than not. He’d been feeling sorry for himself, big-time, and he’d been ignoring her for some reason. But he’d been certain both of those things could have been talked out, dealt with and put behind them so they could go on with the wedding. And maybe they still could be worked out, if he called her or, better yet, flew to Vegas to persuade her in person. Perhaps that was the real reason why he couldn’t seem to find the right moment to spill the truth. Somewhere deep inside, he thought he and Marilyn Rose would get back together.

Or not...

“Nope, once burned and all of that... Look, I know you never liked my choice of women, but we won’t get into all of that now. Marilyn Rose and I haven’t been, well, you know, together since my accident. I’m surprised she lasted as long as she did. That woman’s a hellion in b— Sorry. I shouldn’t be talking about sex to you, especially while we’re inside a church.”

Even though Beau stood right there in front of Carson, dressed in his black cassock, Carson couldn’t help but talk to him as he always had—like a trusted friend. “I’m a priest, not a prude,” Father Beau said. “I believe I remember a little something about the relationship between a man and a woman. You can say you two haven’t had sex since your accident, but yes, I agree, the details of your bedroom romps are better left unshared.”

Carson stepped in closer, not wanting Zoe to hear the conversation. “I thought priests frowned on all that premarital stuff.”

“We do, but I’m also your cousin.”

“Once you put that collar on, our relationship changed.”

“It shouldn’t have. You can still confide in me.”

“Great. I’m confiding in you now. I need you to not blow it for me, at least not until I’m ready for the town to know the truth. Two cancelled weddings in one family in less than six months might be too much of a scandal for the Grant family to bear. We’re a sensitive bunch. And that includes you, cousin. It took you months to tell the family you’d decided to attend Mount Angel Seminary in Oregon instead of continuing on at Idaho University.”

“That was different. I was engaged to Connie Ballantine and I had to figure out how to tell her without breaking her heart.”

Carson shook his head. “I never could figure out why you asked her to marry you in the first place when you knew from when you were no higher than a June bug you wanted to be a priest.”

“Same reason why you asked Marilyn Rose to marry you, and why your sister said yes to Jimmy Bartley.”

Carson stepped back to get a better look at his cousin. “What are you talking about? What reason?”

But Zoe interrupted before Father Beau could respond to Carson’s question. “I think clusters of towering white branches, tied together in a bunch, at every pew would really pull it all together,” Zoe said as she walked up to Father Beau and Carson, who stood in the middle of the church. “That, coupled with all the Christmas decorations the church will provide, will be breathtaking. What do you think, Father Beau? Will we be allowed to do some branches for your cousin’s wedding?”

Christmas decorating had already begun inside the church. Two massive blue fir trees waited to be illuminated and decorated inside the sanctuary. Rows of white and red poinsettias lined the stairs to the main altar, and a life-size nativity set was going up just outside the front doors on a cleared and sheltered grassy knoll.

Father Beau hesitated answering as Carson’s heart skipped a beat. Then, with a warm priestly smile on his unlined face, he turned toward Zoe and said, “Yes. That would look lovely for any wedding.”

She turned to Carson. “What do you think, Carson? Will that idea work for you? Should we get Marilyn Rose’s agreement? I can try calling her, if you would like.”

Carson felt the blood drain from his face as he contemplated his next move. He had no idea what his cousin had meant when he compared his own failed wedding plans with Kayla’s and Carson’s. He wanted him to elaborate on that but the excitement on Zoe’s face told him he’d have to wait until another time.

Carson knew he had to respond. Merely nodding wasn’t an option this time. But did she have to look so dang cute when she was talking about his bogus wedding? Couldn’t she be more matter-of-fact about it? More businesslike? The glow that radiated from her smiling face was way more than Carson could deal with. He didn’t know why he was having such a visceral reaction to her, and inside a church of all places, but he couldn’t seem to control himself. Every time he looked into those doe eyes of hers, something inside him buzzed with excitement. He had no idea what made him so attracted to her, but this whole wedding planning thing with Zoe Smart was going to get a lot more difficult if he didn’t come to terms with his emotions real quick-like.

Carson turned away from Zoe and looked to his cousin for some support. Certainly, after all he and Beau had been through together, Beau would have his back.

Big mistake.

Father Beau conjured up a sarcastic little smirk on his clerical face. “Yes, cousin, what do you think Marilyn Rose will say about white trees lining the aisle? Seems like a big decision for a cowboy to be making on his own.”

Carson’s mind raced. His heart pounded in his chest. His palms were sweaty. He was more nervous about his answer than he ever had been gearing up in a chute, easing down on a bucking horse.

“I...um... She would love it. Let’s go with the white trees and the flowers, lots of flowers,” he told Zoe. “Whatever you think would look good is fine by me.”

“I love flowers, so if you’re sure you want me to put it together, the church will look like a snowy Christmas wonderland.”

“Yep, go for it,” Carson agreed after he let out the breath he’d been holding on to.

“And that’s your final word on the subject?” Father Beau asked him the question in that inquisitive priestly voice Carson knew so well.

“Absolutely yes. That’s my final word.”

A warm smile spread across Zoe’s lovely full lips and Carson’s temperature immediately rose as he moved away from her and gave his cousin a sheepish glance.

“Well, I believe we’re done here,” Carson announced and proceeded to walk toward the front doors of the church.

He could hear Zoe’s boots echoing behind him as she tried to catch up.

“Nice seeing you again, cousin. Drop in anytime you might want to talk. Our doors are always open,” Father Beau called after him.

Carson held up a hand, but refused to turn around.

* * *

“WHO WOULD HAVE thought that picking out a wedding cake could be this tough?” Carson said as he flipped through a binder filled with pictures of decorated tiered cakes. He tried his darndest to take all this seriously, but looking at white frosted cakes with flowers, swirls and an assortment of other feminine decorations was simply not something this rodeo dog ever thought he’d be doing.

It was now day two of the wedding myth, and although he’d overheard some speculative rumblings about his upcoming ceremony, there was no concrete evidence that it wasn’t going to take place. As long as he kept his mouth shut, no one seemed to be the wiser.

Except maybe his sister Kayla, who kept bugging him about attending their family dinners on Sunday nights. Most ranchers and farmers in these parts liked to spend at least one night a week with their family around the dinner table. Sunday seemed to be the night of choice, and the Grant family was no exception. Even Father Beau attended and contributed a dessert or a main course at least two Sundays a month.

If Carson had his calculations right, this coming Sunday Father Beau would be in attendance. All the more reason why Carson wanted to stay away. Beau knew the truth and his mere presence at the dinner table might force Carson to spill his secret.

Carson hadn’t made it to the family ranch in several weeks due to the weather, his aches and pains, and any number of excuses he could conjure up. He hadn’t wanted to see his family and be forced into answering a million questions about his slow recovery. And he especially didn’t want to see them now that his wedding fabrication was in full swing.

Still, they were celebrating his dad’s sixty-fifth birthday this Sunday, so there was no getting around it. He had to show up.

He’d awoken that morning determined to come clean with the truth, but then Zoe Smart called reminding him of their plans to pick out a cake from Holy Rollers Bakery. He didn’t want to disappoint Zoe on the phone, so without hesitation he agreed to meet her, thinking he’d tell her once they were settled inside the warm bakery, sipping a hot beverage. After all, there was no way he would fork out good money for a cake that no one would eat.

However, as soon as he saw her charming face and heard that sweet voice, he knew if he sprung it on her at the bakery she’d say her goodbyes, hand him a bill for her services, and that would be the last time he’d see her. She’d probably hate him for taking up her time during her busy day when his girl had already ridden off into the sunset.

So instead, there he was sitting across from her and Amanda Gump at a small table in the back of the bakery. A sweet scent of sugar and spice hung in the air as they each sipped on hot chocolate complete with bakery-made peppermint marshmallows, sampling various cakes and their fillings. He tried to build up some enthusiasm over the outrageously priced confections while devising some way he could avoid making a definitive decision, despite the fact that Marilyn Rose had already come through the bakery several months ago with a list of her pricey requirements and narrowed it down to four of her favorite creations.

Apparently, his ex-fiancée had decided on three tiers of chocolaty goodness with a lemon cream filling, which was fine by him, until Amanda Gump, who now ran the bakery after her aunt had stepped down, recommended that he change his order to one tier of chocolate, one tier of yellow cake and perhaps a tier of banana or a nice spice cake on the top.

“That’s a great idea, Amanda,” Zoe said, agreeing with the change. “It’ll mean all the guests will more than likely be satisfied.”

She then gazed over at Carson, seeking his approval. Unfortunately, Carson had come down with a strong case of this is ridiculous and was about to put the kibosh on the entire event when Amanda spoke up.

“You should probably order a gluten-free groom’s cake,” Amanda suggested to Carson. “So your mom and other guests who no longer eat wheat can enjoy the cake festivities, as well. We make a killer lemon poppy seed gluten-free cake that’s to die for. Your mom comes in here at least once a week for our GF lemon poppy seed muffins. I know she’d love our cake, as well.”

His mom... Now, there was someone he had to personally tell about his called-off wedding before he told anyone else. She would be devastated if she heard the news from someone other than her son. As it was, she already had her youngest daughter not going through with her wedding, and now she’d have to deal with her son’s wedding debacle.

Nope, he’d have to hold his tongue a little longer...at least until Sunday dinner. “Sure, whatever my mom likes is fine with me. Order it up.”

In the meantime, he noticed the delight pouring out of Zoe as she and Amanda discussed the number of guests the cakes would have to serve. Zoe was in her element, excited to be part of the planning stage, but then what he knew of Zoe, she seemed as peaceful as a cat resting in the sun. She was one of those people who looked at life with a positive slant, and no matter what happened, even when a bride didn’t show up for her own wedding, Zoe could always find the rosy side of a situation and react with calm, deliberate expertise to defuse any issue.

Amanda, with her short-cropped wine-colored hair, big feather earrings, colorful sweater, red jeans and knee-high bright red boots, was as sharp as a whip about most things, especially business, and had opened the second successful Holy Rollers Bakery over in Jackson just that past summer. Ever since she’d married Milo Gump, she’d turned into a no-nonsense businesswoman who not only knew how to run local bakeries, but was working on opening a third one in Boise.

“Oh, and I love your tiered Christmas Present Cake,” Zoe said as she flipped through the pages in the white binder she held in her lap, searching for the correct page. When she found it, she passed the binder to Carson. It didn’t look like a cake at all, but rather four boxes stacked on top of each other, all gaily wrapped in striped and polka-dot Christmas paper. A big dark red bow sat on the top of the cake.

He knew as soon as he saw it that Marilyn Rose would hate it. According to her, Christmas presents were for children under the age of twelve, and once you turned thirteen, the gift exchange was over. A fact that irked every member of the Grant clan. They believed everyone deserved a present on Christmas, even the family dogs.

“It’s exactly right,” Carson told Zoe. “You couldn’t have picked a more perfect cake. Let’s go with this one.”

If Marilyn Rose did come to her senses and decide to go through with the wedding, a Christmas Present Cake would be one tiny little way for Carson to get even. His family would absolutely love it, especially his four sisters, Kayla, Coco, Kenzie and Callaghan, who each year showered the family with presents they either made themselves or found in one of the local craft stores.

Zoe beamed as Amanda reached across the table and tapped his shoulder. “Oh, go on, Carson Grant. You know your fiancée has to make the final decisions on the cake. It’s like some kind of unwritten rule or something. The bride always picks out the cake.”

“Marilyn Rose is busy in Vegas at the National Finals,” Zoe said, coming to his rescue. “She left Carson in charge, and so far, he’s doing one heck of a job.”

“Wow, that’s some kind of confidence in your man. I love my man to heaven and back, but I doubt I could trust him to pick out a breakfast cake let alone our wedding cake. She must love you very much.”

Carson nearly choked on the bite of cake he’d just put into his mouth, and Zoe ended up slapping him on the back to make sure he was breathing again. “Drink some water,” she suggested. As she patted his back, he tried to relax so his throat would open and allow air to get into his lungs instead of cake.

Finally, after several gulps of water, he could breathe again.

“Are you okay?” Zoe asked, looking concerned.

“Fine,” he squeaked out. “I’m fine, thanks. Must’ve gone down the wrong pipe.”

He cleared his throat, drank a little more water and finally was able to sit back in his chair.

“Great,” Zoe said. “Because I certainly don’t want the groom dying on my watch.”

“I’m fine. Really. Just a little tickle is all.”

Amanda turned to Carson. “It must be killing you not to be able to compete in Vegas with your girl.”

“Yeah, really killing me,” he said, but he knew he didn’t sound very convincing. The thought of his competing in Vegas right now instead of sitting in the safety of Holy Rollers under the ruse of planning his wedding sent a chill up his spine. He didn’t know which lie was worse: the one about how eager he was to get back to competing or that he was getting married on Christmas Day.

He took another bite of cake, careful this time not to suck it into his throat, but to chew it slowly, as he’d been taught when he was a boy. Back then he inhaled his meals in less than five minutes flat, much to his mother’s chagrin. She liked long, lazy dinners with plenty of conversation. Those were precisely the reasons why he hadn’t been by for Sunday dinner. He hadn’t been willing to talk about the accident or anything that concerned his future. And he knew for a fact his family would grill him on both.

Sugar always made him feel better, and he found he particularly liked the lemon cake with the lemon filling. If he had to pick out a cake, albeit a cake that would never be served to anyone and probably never get made, at the very least he could decide what he liked for his future wedding...if he ever had a future wedding. At the moment, it seemed doubtful.

“So, what’s your decision?” Amanda asked, once again all smiles and sunshine.

“I’m really liking this here lemon cake the best.”

“With the lemon filling?”

“Absolutely,” he said. “And don’t go easy on that filling. Layer it on heavy.” He took another big ole bite, wanting the sugar to sweeten up his mood...which it had.

Amanda looked stunned for a moment. “Well, then, I’ll draw up the order form for the cakes and have someone drop it off at your house in a day or two, no later than Monday. You’ll pay for half of the cost when you sign the paperwork, and the other half on delivery. You’re still living in the house in town, right?”

“Yes,” Carson said, thinking by then this entire charade would be over and he would simply cancel the order.

“No need for that,” Zoe said, interrupting his reverie. “I can drop by later today for the paperwork and take it over to Carson’s house to sign and then secure the down payment. His wedding will sneak up on us faster than you think, and I don’t want to take any chances of anything falling through the cracks, especially since December is your busiest month.”

“You got it,” Amanda told her, then jumped up when one of her employees waved her over to help behind the glass counter. “We’re shorthanded right now. I’ve had that sign in the window for help wanted for two solid weeks, and so far, no one has put in an application. If either of you hear of someone looking for a job, please send them my way.”

“Sure will,” Carson said right before Amanda slipped away.

“You know you don’t have to go out of your way for that contract,” Carson said to Zoe. “It can wait until Monday.” He would have liked for it to never get to his door, but he knew as long as he kept up this charade, he’d have to start paying for more and more of the wedding.

Zoe shook her head as she scooped up the last bite of lemon cake on one of the many plates on the table. “We should firm this up ASAP, and I’m thinking you’re right, the top tier of this cake should be lemon. It’s amazing.”

“Yes...amazing. It’s all amazing.” Carson pushed his hat back on his head, then readjusted it. Between the two women, he had just signed up for two cakes with a price tag that outdid a pair of handmade boots.

“Believe me, we’re just getting started. There’s still a long list of decisions to be made.”

Carson wasn’t in the mood for any more decisions, especially when those decisions were going to cost him more money. Both he and Marilyn Rose had agreed to pay for their own wedding. Her parents couldn’t afford to pay for such a fancy event. And Carson’s parents had four daughters, one of whom was still working on paying them back for a wedding that never happened.

“What’s the rush? I thought all the big stuff had been chosen already. Can’t these smaller decisions wait for a few more days?”

But Zoe didn’t answer. Instead, she headed out of the bakery. He stood, quickly grabbed his coat off the back of the chair and followed her to the front door past several customers ordering their sugar fixes. One of them was Doc Blake Granger, the local pediatric dentist, and his daughter Scout, who had won more trophies and ribbons at the county fair last summer than anyone had in its history.

Everyone said their hellos, and then Carson hurried to catch up to Zoe. Out in the bitter cold, he secured his hat on his head, buttoned up his coat, slipped on his thick wool gloves and mentally prepared himself for the rest of his day with one very determined wedding planner.

* * *

“I REALLY DON’T care what color roses are on the dinner tables or what color the tablecloths are and I especially don’t give a hoot if there’s a disco ball hanging from the ceiling when I take the bride out on the dance floor,” Carson said to Zoe. Connie Bates, the events coordinator at Pauline’s Inn, a two-story Victorian on the outskirts of town, and the only place in all of Briggs that Marilyn Rose would even consider for the reception, headed out of the room to check to see if they still owned a disco ball.

Carson had reached his breaking point, and Zoe knew it. “You only have one more decision to make and we’re done here.”

“The operative word is here. Sounds like we have more to do.”

Zoe didn’t want to tell him that not only did he have more decisions to make about the big-ticket items, but they also had to decide on what kind of wine to serve, and the seating chart. There were just under one hundred guests invited to the wedding, and as of yet there was no seating chart. They still had some time to decide on all these things, but Zoe found that the closer the bride and groom got to the actual day, the harder it was to pin them down to make decisions. Plus, Christmas had its own set of issues that might make these final three weeks a real challenge for everyone.

Zoe nodded. “Yes, a few more stops, but you’ve been a trouper so far. Don’t give up now.”

“Wouldn’t it save everyone a lot of time and money if we just called the whole thing off? I mean, if we had to, we could elope for a fraction of the price. Then we could throw a barbecue on my parents’ ranch when the temperature heats up and call it done.”

Zoe’s eyes went wide, and her pulse quickened at the mere mention of an elopement. If he pulled out of this wedding now, she’d have to take that counter-person job at Holy Rollers that Amanda was talking about. Her mind raced with ideas to keep Carson going, and short of calling his sweetheart and asking her to give him a quick pep talk, she decided on the next best thing...mom guilt.

“Do you really want to do that to your mom?”

His forehead wrinkled and a look of concern captured his otherwise serene face. Zoe had found his soft spot: his mom.

“What’s my mom got to do with this?”

“Everything! She was already cheated out of Kayla’s wedding, and now you want to cheat her out of her only son’s wedding? I doubt she’d ever forgive you for that one.”

Carson didn’t respond at first. He merely sat back in his fancy Victorian chair and slowly let out a breath. There was something about Carson Grant that Zoe couldn’t shake. Sure, he had all those rugged good looks going on enhanced by some gorgeous, thick, exceptionally silky dark hair and long eyelashes that shaded his steel blue eyes. She also knew he had a ripped chest hidden away under that gray shirt and sweater, but it was his demeanor and his cowboyness that set her heart racing every time she stood close to him. Not to mention how good he always smelled, like cut grass in spring, or a crisp morning in fall when the sun worked to soak up the dew.

With Piper busy decorating the town square, that left Zoe completely in charge of the Grant wedding.

Piper’s father, a third-generation potato farmer, had been voted in as Royal Tuber, president of the Royal Order of Local Spud Growers. For the second year in a row, he’d tapped Piper to head up the town square decorating committee. The Royal Order regulated what was acceptable for town square decorations, and that included any and all events that took place during the year. Piper never could say no to her dad, so on top of planning weddings, she also planned outdoor adornments.

Now Zoe would have to be the one to lead Carson around to all the vendors and guide him to make the right decisions. By the sound of his discontentment, that wasn’t going to happen for much longer. Zoe sensed a Carson Grant rebellion coming on.

Carson was notorious for his refusal to take a traditional route, which was part of what made him such a great rodeo athlete. He was one of those nonconformists who learned to ride a bucking horse on his own terms. He rode as if he and the horse were cut from the same cloth, and even though Carson was taking his time getting back in the saddle, Zoe, along with the rest of the town, felt confident that once he returned from his honeymoon, nothing would keep him from competing again. She only hoped bringing in the mom card would settle his current restlessness and they could continue on with the wedding plans.

“Fine, but I need a break from all these decisions. I have something I want to say and I don’t think it can wait much longer. This wedding is getting out of control, and if I don’t do something quick-like, I’ll be paying for it for more years than I might be wanting to.”

“What are you proposing?” Zoe asked as she collected her purse and notebook.

* * *

THIRTY MINUTES LATER Zoe and Carson eased up on two wooden bar stools inside a crowded Belly Up Tavern. Carson took more time to secure himself on the stool. That injured leg of his still seemed to cause him a lot of pain. He leaned on his cane more than Zoe first thought he would. As the day had worn on, he seemed to be relying on it steadily.

Happy hour was in full swing and most of the twenty-one-and-older residents of Briggs liked to take advantage of the half-priced drinks, house wines and the bar menu, especially on Fridays.

Christmas decorations surrounded them, with pretty garland hanging from the beamed ceiling. The multicolored lights on the seven-foot decorated tree standing next to the glass front doors reminded Zoe that she hadn’t even begun to decorate her own apartment. She’d been too distracted by her financial woes to get into the holiday spirit this year.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Milo Gump said from behind the polished mahogany bar. “Good to see you up and about, Carson Grant. Last I heard, you were holed up in your house and never leaving. What finally got you out?”

Milo and Amanda had recently purchased the tavern and Milo liked to tend bar most days during the week while Amanda ran the bakery. He was a mountain of a man, weighing somewhere in the mid-two-hundreds. He always wore a pinch-front cattlemen’s hat indoors or out, winter or summer, rain or shine, a checkered shirt, jeans and Western boots. Today was no exception.

“Working on all the final wedding details,” Zoe said, answering for Carson, who seemed to be in his own world.

“That’s comin’ up fast,” Milo said. “Christmas will be here before you know it. What are we down to? About two or three more weeks?”

“Twenty-one days to be exact,” Carson said, shifting on his stool, then leaning his elbows on the bar.

“Where’s that woman of yours?” Milo asked. “Shouldn’t she be in on all these last-minute details? I heard she was in town, but then somebody said she left. I figured that couldn’t be true what with all that probably still needs to be done for your wedding. When Amanda and me got hitched, we were still makin’ decisions the morning of our wedding. It sure was one hell of a party, and if it wasn’t for Zoe here, I don’t think we could’a ever pulled it off. It don’t matter what anybody says, Zoe Smart really knows her stuff.”

Zoe thought he’d probably heard all the rumors swirling around about her business and she wanted to jump in and defend herself, but Carson suddenly woke up before she had the chance.

“And just what is everybody saying?” Carson asked while leaning on the bar. “Like you said, I’ve been holed up for a while and haven’t been privy to much town gossip.”

Milo’s gaze went to Zoe. “Sorry, I just assumed you knew, I mean... What can I get you guys?”

“A cold one in a long neck,” Carson told him, his gaze now focused on Zoe.

“Make that two,” she told Milo, who went off to retrieve the beers looking as if he was happy to get as far away as possible.

Carson adjusted his stool to face Zoe, his eyes catching the twinkling lights that surrounded him; a warm smile creased his lips and Zoe’s heart raced.

Did he have to look so darn cute?

“So tell me, Zoe Smart, just what is it that everyone’s saying about you?”

Milo dropped off the beers and disappeared to the far end of the bar before the bottles settled on the napkins. Obviously, he wanted no part of the conversation.

Both Carson and Zoe took a long pull from their beers while she decided on whether or not to tell him about the nasty yet somewhat true rumors swirling around her business. She wished she could confide in him like a friend, but she didn’t know him well enough for that. As it was, she barely knew him at all, and the longer they spent time together, she realized the man was a closed book. Sure, she was attracted to him physically. There weren’t too many healthy, heterosexual women over sixteen who wouldn’t be. Unfortunately, not only was he getting married in three weeks, he wasn’t very chatty, a trait Zoe liked in a man.

But there he was, Mr. Oh-So-Cool-Cowboy and local hero waiting for her reply. She decided she’d keep it simple and get right to the point.

“It all started when you drove away from St. Paul’s with your sister Kayla, the beautiful bride, sitting in the backseat of your SUV, crying over deserting her fiancé on their wedding day.”

He took another long pull on his beer, then ordered two more from Milo, who barely looked their way.

“What started?” Carson appeared to be completely unaware of the rumors, a difficult state to be in while living in Briggs. Everyone seemed to know everyone’s business.

“This whole thing about We Do I Do’s being jinxed.”

He chuckled. “Jinxed? How on earth did this town come to that decision?” He finished off his beer and started on the second one that Milo had quickly dropped off.

Zoe downed the rest of her beer, discreetly burped, excused herself and started on her second bottle. She knew she was a lightweight and had to curb her intake, but the first one went down so easy, she couldn’t stop herself.

She leaned on the bar, turned to Carson, looked into those beautiful eyes of his and decided to come clean. “Kayla wasn’t my only bride who bolted. I had another runner over in Jackson, and recently two couples cancelled and took their business to my competitor in Idaho Falls. If it wasn’t for your wedding, I’d be begging Amanda for a job at the bakery. As it stands right now, if you back out of this wedding, I’m thinking I’ll have to close up shop and go back to work for my parents in Boise at their law firm. Something my parents always wanted. The folks in this town love a happy ending, and if they can’t get one, they think whoever stopped it must somehow be jinxed.”

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