Emma asked about Carly, and Shallie found it easy to respond. Everything was positive—doing well at school, loving her music program, planning another concert with The GateCrashers, which made her a celebrity among her fellow students. The pet support charity had brought her happiness and satisfaction.
And what about Shallie’s own plans? Emma asked. Was she thinking about returning to Seattle if she wasn’t sure about marrying Cord? “I miss you so much,” she added.
“I miss you, too. We’ll talk soon, okay?” Shallie said hastily. “Gotta run.”
She didn’t really have to, but during their conversation, she’d suddenly realized this uncertainty couldn’t go on. She couldn’t continue in a state of indecision regarding her future. After all, she still had a job, her unpaid leave extended for another month, and an apartment in Seattle. She and Cord had to determine exactly where their relationship was going. Marriage? Shallie moving here? Some kind of arrangement with her living part-time in both places? Although she couldn’t imagine him being enthusiastic about that. And honestly? Neither was she.
Despite their history and genuine connection, great sex, a shared sense of humor...she still had doubts. Fleeting ones, perhaps, but self-protective ones, mostly at this point based on Rob’s unexpected betrayal. And yet, had she ever loved anyone more than Cord? Had she ever trusted anyone more?
* * *
CORD, OUT IN the stable that afternoon, was perturbed by Shallie’s text—mostly because it was so abrupt. Need to see you. 5 p.m. okay? Porch, with drink.
That sounded rather alarming, but he immediately texted back. Sure. See you then.
At 4:45 p.m., he was sitting on the porch with two dogs, one beer and a waiting glass of wine.
She hurried outside, apparently surprised he was already there. “Oh...hi.”
He picked up the wineglass, held it out to her, then gave her a chance to settle in one of the chairs, greet the dogs, take a sip. “All right. What’s so urgent? You okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine. Well, not really.”
He leaned forward, frowning. “What do you mean?”
“I need to know where we are. In terms of our relationship. We’re living together—sort of. Sharing a room, anyway. Not to mention sleeping together. But how serious are we?”
“I’m serious,” he said. “Totally and completely.” He had to stop, breathe deeply, so conscious of her beauty, her nearness, her scent. “I’m in love with you.” He paused again. “I told you that night in Silver Hills, remember?”
She stared down at her wine, at the dogs, the wooden slats of the floor—anywhere but at him. Then she glanced up. “I do remember. And I remember what I said. That I might be in love with you, too.”
He nodded, recalling the moment. Not that it was ever far from his mind. “But when we talked about this earlier, I got the feeling you weren’t ready...”
“Now I am. I want to be with you for the rest of our lives. I love you. And,” she added, “I realize I’m not afraid anymore. Because I trust you. I just needed your reassurance that—”
He reached across to embrace her, accidentally knocking the glass out of her hand, wine spilling on her jeans—but fortunately not on the dogs. “Sorry! I’ll go get you a towel and another drink. But answer my question first. Will you marry me?”
“Hey! I was going to ask! The answer is yes, but as Carly would say, how traditional of you—thinking the man has to be the one to propose.”
“Carly does tend to see traditional as a negative. We’ll do a mutual proposal, okay? But I’ll go refill your glass first so we can toast to our future. Or is that too traditional?”
She laughed. “Who cares? Could you bring some food while you’re at it? And some dog treats?”
He returned with a tea towel draped over his arm, carrying her wine, plus a dish of corn chips and guacamole. And a couple of dog chews, which he handed out. “Good enough, you guys?” Their wagging tails said it was.
* * *
ONCE SHE’D DRIED off her jeans and he’d arranged everything on the table, he held out his arms. Shallie stood up and practically fell into them; he sat back in his chair, with her on his lap. After a series of kisses, quick ones and slow, he set her down. “Now, about that proposal...”
“Yeah. Gotta do this right.” She picked up her glass and raised it to his. “Cord Hollister, you’re the man I love. Will you marry me?”
“Yes, Shallie Fletcher, I will. And now it’s my turn to ask the question—even though you’ve already answered it with yours. Will you marry me?”
“Yes!” She giggled, pointing at the dogs. “You can’t back out now. We have two witnesses.”
“I have no intention of backing out. I love you,” he said. “You make my life complete in a way it’s never been before.”
Serious again, she told him, “You’ve done the same for me.”
* * *
THEY SORTED OUT some plans that evening.
They’d have the wedding on the Friday before Christmas, they decided. Short notice, but they’d send out the invitations in the next few days. And they’d have an informal party here on the Saturday of Thanksgiving weekend.
Then, their planning as complete as possible for now, they went to bed—to really celebrate.
The following day, they talked about selecting a best man and a maid of honor; certain wedding niceties would be observed. Shallie’s maid of honor would be Emma; Cord said Eli and J.P. should draw cards to decide who should be the best man. Or maybe he’d just skip right to Trooper—as his “beast man.”
The GateCrashers would be hired to provide the music for both events with, naturally, an original contribution or two from Carly.
Shallie tried not to think about the DNA tests. She hated the now-common expression, “It is what it is,” but... It would be what it would be. She’d come to recognize that what she hoped for was not only to be part of Cord’s life but Carly’s, as well.
The invitations went out by mail and email, and responses were coming back quickly.
These days she was helping Carly with MPS by driving her to some of the appointments, writing a blog about the charity, which Susan—with whom she was becoming good friends—posted on the library website. MPS now had nine area clients. She also continued to work with Cord’s horse people.
They’d made a number of decisions about the wedding. The ceremony itself would be in the Painted Pony Creek Community Church, followed by a reception at Bailey’s. She and Carly ordered dresses, fairly informal but long, hers an off-white, Carly’s a pale blue.
In mid-October, she flew to Seattle, planning to spend three days there. She resigned from her job, meeting former colleagues for dinner that first night. Julie flew in for a couple of days, and that meant a lot to Shallie.
She gave up her apartment as of month’s end, offering Julie Daniels, as well as Emma, any furniture, electronics and kitchenware they could use. The rest was picked up by a local charity.
Shallie didn’t keep much—clothes, some books, which she shipped to herself in Montana, a few personal effects and jewelry.
She loved seeing Julie again and was beginning to feel a new depth of connection. With Shallie’s agreement, Cord had shared the news about their engagement. Now Julie told Shallie repeatedly how happy this made her, that she already adored her as a daughter-in-law and was convinced no woman could be better for her son. “We’ll definitely plan to be at the wedding,” she promised. “And the Thanksgiving party if possible.”
When Julie drove her to the airport on Sunday, she handed her a small sealed package. “I called Cord and told him I’m giving you this to bring home. It’s my wedding ring, from his dad.”
It was all Shallie could do not to open it midflight.
* * *
ELI, J.P. (AND TROOPER) met Cord for brunch at Bailey’s that same afternoon to discuss wh
at they called “the best man thing.” They listed the alternatives. Draw cards as suggested by Cord. Find out if they could both take on the role. Recommend someone else? No way!
But if Shallie had two maids of honor, they could do the two-best-men scenario, couldn’t they?
Brow wrinkled in a frown, J.P. wondered if they were being childish about this, like grade-school kids competing in a schoolyard. Eli disagreed. “No. Because we’re friends. Close and longtime friends. In fact, we fought for this friendship—”
“Fought about it, anyway.”
They grinned and Eli continued. “The three of us are important in each other’s lives. I truly believe that. I’ve always believed it, especially after that Christmas.”
“The one orchestrated by your grandfather,” J.P. reminded him—as if any of them could have forgotten. “And you know I feel exactly the same. But we do have some time before this has to be resolved.”
The conversation wandered in different directions. How well Russ was doing with the motel renos and J.P.’s pride in the venture. How much Eric had progressed; Eli gave credit to a long list of people—including Carly and Lindsey and the pet support group. Sara. And Eric himself.
“Hey, he knows you’ll kick his ass from here to beyond if he screws up again.”
“True. But I honestly think he wants to be the person he should be. By the way, I saw Sara and Hayley last night, and I could tell they’re a lot happier these days because Eric’s doing so well.”
J.P. nodded. “Let’s just hope he stays with it.” He paused. “Any news on that missing donkey? The one with the storybook name?”
“Eeyore.” Eli shrugged deeply. “Not yet, but Eric told me just a few days ago that he hasn’t given up hope. He can’t forgive himself for that—or the dead sheep.”
“He’s right. Pretty bad.,” Cord said.
“He’s making up for it the best he can.”
“So, what happens now?” J.P. asked.
Shaking his head, Eli murmured, “Don’t know. It’s like an unsolved crime. Maybe Eeyore was killed, worst-case scenario. Or rescued, best case. We put out the word a month ago, but got no response.”
J.P. sighed. “Too bad. Should we try doing another patrol?”
“I don’t think so, and this isn’t the best time of year for it, either.” He hailed Brynne who, without asking, brought them each a local dark ale, plus “a Trooper treat” that she slid under the table.
“Thanks,” they said and Trooper lashed his tail excitedly.
“On the house. I heard you talking about that poor animal and—”
“Not necessary to give us a free beer. But we’ll take it. Any suggestions?”
She pointed at Trooper. “What about involving this little man?”
“We’ve asked the owner if she has a dog who might recognize his scent. She doesn’t.”
“Maybe Shallie or Susan could do a blog about it,” Brynne said.”
Eli nodded slowly. “Good idea.” But he had a better one. He’d ask Carly. Her YouTube channel could be a real opportunity in a situation like this.
Okay, that meant there were two questions he wanted to settle as soon as possible—the damn best man (or men) thing and the whereabouts of Eeyore. And, of course, the DNA result, but that he could do nothing about.
After lunch Eli invited himself over to Cord’s; fortunately, it was a Saturday. Cord had more clients coming in, although not until Monday. Late afternoon, the two of them went riding—Eli hadn’t done that in ages—and stopped to sit on a rock outcropping, inhaling the scent of fall, reveling in the beauty of the early-setting sun.
“So, on the topic of who’s going to be your best man...”
Cord seemed confused. “What about it? Up to you guys. Does it really matter?”
“Sure does, and you should get that.”
Sigh. “I’m fine with either of you. Do whatever you want.”
“No,” he protested firmly. “It has to be what you and Shallie want.” He stared into the trees for a moment. “Like we discussed, how about if J.P. and I both do it—and Shallie has a second maid of honor?”
“I’ll ask her.”
That was the end of that particular subject for now. They were soon distracted by a host of other problems, questions—and a few jokes.
* * *
ON HER LATE-AFTERNOON return from Seattle, Cord met Shallie in baggage claim at the Billings airport. She’d brought two suitcases from the apartment, filled with the clothes, memorabilia and gifts she was keeping. After a long welcome-home kiss, he hauled her suitcases to the car. The small package from Julie was tucked in her purse. She’d have to find the right time to give it to him—perhaps over dinner.
Once in the car, they kissed again. “I missed you so much,” he murmured. “I can’t wait to hear more about the trip—and to get you home.”
“I missed you, too. I never want to leave you again.” They’d exchanged regular phone calls and texts while she was away, but that wasn’t the same...
At Shallie’s suggestion they stopped to visit a restaurant with an attractive dining room, lavishly decorated with flowering plants.
After a few minutes of conversation about her time in Seattle and how things were in Painted Pony Creek, she said, “I think we could use a glass of champagne, don’t you?”
“Sure! To celebrate your homecoming.” He raised his hand to attract the waiter’s attention. Once their drinks arrived, they raised their glasses. “To us,” he proclaimed.
“And to celebrate...this.” She reached into her purse and pulled out the packet, then opened it to reveal a velvet box. “Julie gave me this for you. It’s her wedding ring from your dad.”
“Yeah, she told me.” Cord actually felt tears well up, spill over—and they were nothing he was ashamed of. Shallie gently brushed his cheeks with one hand.
A minute later, he said, “Why don’t we invite Carly to be our ring bearer at the wedding?”
“Yes!” She nodded vigorously. “I love that idea!”
Gazing down at the simple gold ring in its velvet box, he said, “This will bring so many parts of my life together. You and me, Carly, my family.”
“Yes,” she said again. “You ask her, okay?”
“No, we should do it together.”
And that night they did. He also explained the best man “issue”—and Shallie immediately said she’d see if Tina would be her matron of honor.
She called Tina, and in a matter of minutes heard an enthusiastic “Of course!”
* * *
CARLY WROTE A brief entry in her journal.
Another reason to smile! I’m going to be the ring bearer at Cord and Shallie’s wedding! Cord did say he knows it’s a really “traditional” thing, and that he’s not officially my dad (yet?) and that I might consider myself too old for that kind of role.
I told him and Shallie that none of those things matter. I’m just so honored by this. I know their wedding will be one of the happiest days in my life.
* * *
THAT EVENING, ELI went to Sara’s for dinner, delighted to find the whole family in a good mood. Still, he watched Eric carefully and sensed that his nephew felt a bit nervous, but when Sara proposed that they play an old-fashioned board game, they all joined in. Hayley chose Monopoly, which Eli hadn’t played in—what? Twenty years? At least. And, for her age, Hayley was a better-than-average player and deserved the win she achieved.
After goodbye hugs with Sara and Hayley and a handshake with Eric, the boy followed him to the door, asking for a confidential discussion. Keeping his voice low, he said that one of his companions in crime had texted him a threatening message.
“Who is it?” Eli asked bluntly. “Threatening how? Give me details.”
Eric shook his head. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I just wanted you to know ab
out it.”
“Do you want me to do something or not?”
“Uh. I guess we should leave it for now. I’m not really scared—more pissed off.”
“Okay, I’ll have to go along with that. But you call me the second you hear from this jerk again. If you do.”
Eric nodded, a gloomy look on his face.
“Listen,” Eli said. “You’ve been doing really well. We’re all proud of you.”
“Thanks, Uncle Eli. I mean that. I owe you and Mom and Loretta—you know, my therapist—and a bunch of other people for that. I feel like I have a future now.”
“You do, damn it!”
“You don’t have to yell at me.”
Eli sighed, relieved that Sara and Hayley had gone upstairs. “Sorry, I know. Just keep in mind that you have a second chance here.” He clasped Eric’s shoulder. “You’ve got a lot of potential and we’re all counting on you.”
But as he climbed into his car, he couldn’t help worrying that this former so-called friend of Eric’s was going to be trouble.
* * *
SUNDAY, CARLY MADE an announcement about Eeyore on her YouTube channel, and then it occurred to her to offer a reward. She asked Eric what he thought. He said he couldn’t afford it, but otherwise would do whatever was necessary to get that little critter found. If she fronted the money, he promised he’d eventually pay her back, although it wouldn’t be for quite a while. She dismissed that, and with his not always helpful comments, wrote a piece about Eeyore, offering a thousand-dollar reward. He seemed impressed with what she’d written and agreed to contact Joanne Berg, the owner, to ask for a photo. He received it within the hour, and the post went out. Granted, this would go continent-wide or wider, and Carly knew there’d be hundreds if not thousands of comments. But she agreed with Eli that it might be their best chance of tracking down the animal.
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