Читать книгу A Christmas Wedding For The Cowboy - Mary Leo - Страница 11

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.”