Читать книгу Remember Me, Cowboy - C.J. Carmichael - Страница 10

Prologue

Where was the groom? Laurel checked her watch, not sure whether to feel annoyed or worried. Her best friend Winnie Hays should have been marching down the aisle of the Coffee Creek United Church ten minutes ago.

As young girls, growing up together in a Montana farming community about an hour from Coffee Creek, she and Winnie had planned their wedding days down to the color of the flowers and the flavor of the cake. Actually, Winnie had planned, and Laurel had gone along with her, claiming to want whatever it was that Winnie wanted.

For the longest time their friendship had worked that way. Winnie decided to take swimming lessons, so Laurel did, too. Winnie started dating a boy, so Laurel dated his best friend. After they’d finished high school and Winnie applied to college in Great Falls, no one had been surprised when Laurel decided to study at the University of Great Falls, too.

Only after they’d earned their undergraduate degrees had Laurel finally realized that she yearned for something Winnie didn’t—to leave Montana. So, scared to death but determined, she moved to New York City on her own to pursue her dream of a career in magazine publishing.

To her credit, Winnie never tried to talk her out of her decision. “You have to go for it, Laurel. Or you’ll always wonder what if...”

Good advice. From a good friend.

And now, three years later, on what should have been the happiest day of Winnie’s life, the bride was starting to panic. “I don’t understand. Brock promised he’d be early.”

The ceremony had been scheduled to start at three o’clock. Fifteen minutes to the hour a dark sedan had arrived from Coffee Creek Ranch driven by Brock’s eldest brother, B.J. Dark-haired B.J., with his noble high forehead and chiseled features, had escorted his mother, Olive, into the church.

Olive, still pretty at sixty, her petite figure showcased in an ivory-colored, raw silk suit, had walked proudly on her son’s arm as they made their way to the front pew. Having met her several times now during her week in Coffee Creek, Laurel still found it difficult to believe that this diminutive, soft-spoken woman ran the biggest ranch in all of Bitterroot County.

That arrival had been twenty-five minutes ago. Now the church was packed with invited guests and the organist had just started through her repertoire for the third time.

“This is so not a good sign.” Winnie grabbed bunches of white satin, hitching up her dress so she could stand on a chair for a better view down the street. “Where the hell are they?”

“They” included not only the groom, Brock Lambert, but the middle Lambert son, Corb, who was the best man—and no doubt about that in Laurel’s mind, though she’d only known him a week—and the driver, Jackson Stone.

Jackson was the quiet one. So far Laurel had been unable to engage him in any conversation lasting more than five minutes, so it was only thanks to Winnie that she knew he’d come to the Lambert’s ranch as a foster child when he was thirteen. Apparently he’d taken to ranch life so well he was now considered part of the family.

“What time did Corb say they left?” Winnie asked, though she already knew the answer.

“Thirty-five minutes ago.” Laurel bit her lower lip anxiously. The drive from the Coffee Creek Ranch to town normally took fifteen minutes. No higher mathematics degree was required to figure out they should be here by now.

“What’s happened...?” Winnie spoke softly, her gaze still fixed to the street.

“Don’t worry,” Laurel soothed. “Could be they ran out of gas or had a flat.”

“Or maybe they got halfway here only to realize that Corb forgot the ring.” Cassidy Lambert smirked. As the only girl in a family of four boys—if you counted Jackson, and most people did—she didn’t faze easily. Or conform. She’d agreed to be Winnie’s bridesmaid on the condition that she would not wear high heels. “It has to be running shoes or cowboy boots,” she’d dictated. “Take your pick.”

Which explained the cream-colored boots in butter-soft ostrich leather that she was swinging as she sat on her perch on the ledge of the same window that Winnie was peering out of.

“But if they’ve been held up,” Winnie reasoned, correctly in Laurel’s mind, “why haven’t they called?”

That was the unanswerable question. One of three men might have forgotten to charge his phone last night. But all three? Hearing tears in Winnie’s voice, Laurel stepped forward to urge her off the chair.

“You’re making me dizzy up there. Here, sit for a while. You heard Olive say that this would be the first time one of her boys had been to church in a decade. Maybe they got lost and, being men, won’t stop for directions.”

Laurel generally counted on humor in moments of tension. And she was rewarded with a wisp of a smile, before Winnie’s faced creased with worry again.

The fact was, no one could miss the church in Coffee Creek. The white steeple made it the tallest building in a town of about fifteen hundred people. Damn those Lambert men. How could they do this to Winnie? They better have one hell of a good excuse for being so late.

“I’ll call them.” Cassidy jumped softly to the wooden floor. “I’ll go get my phone.”

As soon as she’d left for the minister’s office where they’d stowed their personal effects, Winnie let out a small moan.

“I can’t stand this anymore. I’ve been dying to tell Brock, but you’ll have to be the first to know.”

“Know what?” Long familiarity with her friend’s dramatic streak meant Laurel didn’t overreact. She frowned at a scuff on her imitation Valentino pumps, then tried rubbing it off with her thumb.

“Maybe you should sit down. I don’t want you fainting or anything.”

“Fat chance, Winnie. I am not the fainting kind.” But she abandoned the scuff. This actually sounded serious.

“I called Brock at the crack of dawn today and told him to get to the church early. That there was something I needed to tell him before the ceremony.”

“So you decided to come clean about your criminal record? Good call.”

Winnie didn’t even crack a smile. “I’m serious, Laurel. I should have told him earlier, but I was in shock myself.”

Laurel didn’t interrupt this time when Winnie paused. She just waited for her friend to find the right words.

“I’m pregnant.”

Laurel could feel her mouth drop open. She couldn’t help it. Those were not the right words she’d been expecting to hear. “Holy cow. Really?”

“Yes. Two months along, I figure—”

Winnie stopped talking as the door opened. Cassidy was back, cell phone in hand, frowning.

“Brock isn’t answering.” She punched another button. “I’ll try Corb.”

No one spoke. The relentless repitition of “Ode to Joy” was getting on Laurel’s nerves.

“Damn.” Cassidy disconnected the call after reaching the answering service. Next she tried Jackson’s number. Again, no one picked up. “If this is some sort of prank, I’m going to kill them.”

But Laurel could see the worry in Cassidy’s deep green eyes. She was scared. So was Winnie. Her face had gone whiter than the fabric of her wedding gown, making her brown eyes seem almost as black as her hair.

Winnie glanced out the window again. “Someone’s coming! I think it’s Jackson’s SUV....”

Cassidy peered over her shoulder. “No. It’s a County Sheriff vehicle.”

The three women exchanged looks, no one saying what they were all thinking. This couldn’t be good. Laurel’s pulse thumped crazily in her throat as she watched the driver park in front of the church. A long-legged woman dressed in uniform, dark hair worn in a long braid to accommodate her hat, stepped out to the street. She glanced left, right, then seemed to take a deep breath before heading inside the church.

“Who was that?” Laurel wondered.

“Sheriff Savannah Moody.” Winnie’s voice was unnaturally low. “She’s a good friend of Brock’s. We were going to invite her to the wedding, but he said there was bad blood between her and B.J. I don’t know the details.”

Laurel’s mind went blank, refusing to speculate on the reasons for the sheriff’s unexpected appearance. Instead, she thought of the day, a week ago, when she’d arrived at the airport in Billings, having spent most of a day traveling to Montana from New York City.

Winnie had been called in for an unexpected dress fitting and so she’d sent the best man to collect Laurel. Corb Lambert, brother of the groom. “He’ll be the cowboy with a dimple in his left cheek,” was all Winnie wrote in her hurried text message.

Laurel hadn’t seen him at first. She was worried about her bag, which hadn’t appeared on the carousel, even though most of her fellow passengers on Delta 4608 had claimed their luggage and departed the airport at least five minutes ago.

“Please don’t let them have lost my suitcase,” she pleaded with the airline gods. Besides her clothes for the week, she stood to lose her bridesmaid gown and Winnie and Brock’s wedding gift.

And then she saw them both, in the same second. The brown, beaten suitcase with the pink ribbon tied around the handle. And the cowboy striding toward her with a grin and a sparkle to his eye that made her automatically pat her hair and suck in her tummy.

“Sugar?” He walked right up to her. “If you’re Laurel Sheridan I think Coffee Creek is about to become a whole lot sweeter.”

A corny line, but, oh, how her heart had pounded.

As it was pounding now, in a much less pleasant way.

Laurel squeezed Winnie’s hand, staying close to her friend, who’d started to tremble. They followed Cassidy out the door of the antechamber into the vestibule. Two wide doors stood open to the church where all the guests awaited. Chatter filled the air, along with the Beethoven.

And then, abruptly, the organ stopped and everyone turned, expecting to see the bride. A collective gasp washed over the room when Sheriff Moody stepped forward, instead. With a grim expression she said, “I need to talk to someone from the Lambert family.”

A brief hesitation, then B.J. stood, tall and lean in his charcoal suit and tie. “Savannah.” His grim expression grew darker. “What happened?”

Olive made her way to her feet and said what everyone in the room was fearing. “Has there been an accident?”

The silence intensified as one second stretched

into two.

“I’m sorry, Olive. But yes. There’s been an a-accident.” The sheriff’s voice broke on the last word and Laurel could feel Winnie wobble on the delicate heels of her wedding shoes. On cue, Cassidy came up on the bride’s other side and helped Laurel hold her steady.

Sheriff Moody looked from B.J. to the bride, then finally back to Olive. “Jackson’s SUV hit a moose on Big Valley Road, about five miles from town.”

The name of the road meant nothing to Laurel. She was holding her breath, praying again, not with sharp annoyance as she had at the airport, but with total desperation. Please let them be okay. Just a few cuts and bruises, she bargained, maybe a broken leg or two.

“Brock?” Winnie locked her gaze on the sheriff, who slowly shook her head.

“I’m so sorry, Winnie. Brock was sitting in the front passenger seat—the impact point with the moose. He didn’t have a chance.”

Winnie made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a cry, then pulled her hands free from the supportive hold of Laurel and Cassidy and covered her face.

Laurel wrapped her arms around her friend, her mind slipping away to the party they’d had, just last night. She and Corb had been dancing. They’d had a few beers. The lights were low and her body had tingled at the touch of his hands on her waist and shoulder. When she’d stumbled, Corb said, “Tired? Let me walk you home, sugar.”

He’d done more than just walk her home. A lot more. Never in her life had she fallen for somebody this hard. This fast.

“What about Corb?” B.J.’s voice was stretched tighter than a barbed wire fence. “And Jackson?”

“Jackson was driving, wearing his seat belt and the air bag was able to cushion him from the worst of it. He’s badly bruised and shaken, but he’s okay.”

And Corb?

“Your other brother was in the backseat. He should have been fine, but I’m afraid he wasn’t wearing his seat belt. As we speak he’s being medevaced to Great Falls. I can’t say how bad his injuries are. You’ll have to talk to the doctors for that.”

“Is he conscious?” Olive asked, her voice rough, eyes desperate.

The sheriff shook her head. “No.”