Melody talked in great detail about flowers, decorations, food. He tried to focus but it all sounded like she was speaking a foreign language. He’d never expected this from his sister. She’d always been so rational.
He didn’t want to interfere but he had doubts about the fiancé who hadn’t stepped foot on Oklahoma soil in months. According to Melody, he was busy working in California. Max hoped that was the truth.
“What do you think, Sierra?” Melody had hold of the other woman’s arm and he saw Sierra stiffen. But she smiled, as if trying very hard to accommodate his sister’s affectionate nature. “Heart-shaped filet mignon or salmon. Isn’t that perfect?”
Sierra’s face said she thought the idea was anything but perfect.
He swallowed and looked away but not before she gave him a look that begged for assistance. He shrugged but didn’t reply, leaving her to come up with an answer for his sister.
“I think that sounds costly,” Sierra said. “But of course it’s up to you. You’re the bride.”
“I’m paying for this nonsense,” Max inserted. “Why do we need heart-shaped food?”
Melody rolled her eyes. “It isn’t about need, it’s about want.”
“There would be a lot of wasted food,” Sierra informed Melody. “They would have to cut the meat to make the heart shape.”
“Oh, that is a waste. Okay, nothing heart-shaped except the cakes and cookies for the dessert table. And I’d like to do a traditional dance. My grandmother has been teaching me and she feels very strongly that the dance should be done immediately following the ceremony.”
“Traditional dance?” Sierra looked confused.
“Our grandmother is Assyrian,” Melody said over her shoulder as she hurried toward the stairs that led to the loft where the bridal party lounge and dressing rooms were located. The groom and his attendants had a separate building. “Our grandparents came to America in the sixties. They’re our mother’s parents.”
Following close behind his sister, Max walked next to Sierra, noticing her thoughtful expression.
“Our grandmother—we call her Nonni—is still very traditional in many ways,” Max said.
They had reached the top of the stairs and stopped on the wide landing. Sierra unlocked the double doors and motioned them into the bridal suite, which included a large sitting area and windows offering a brief glimpse of Grand Lake.
“Max, come inside, look around.” Melody took hold of his hand and dragged him in.
From the corner of his eye, he caught the expression on Sierra’s face. For a moment, she looked sad. He wondered why.
“We should go now,” Max told his sister. “I’m sure Ms. Lawson has other clients, other things to do. Not that this hasn’t been extremely fun for her.”
“I’m sorry, Sierra, I should have realized...” Melody hugged the wedding planner again. His sister didn’t notice the other woman freeze up. “I’ve just been so excited to show Max everything. I knew he wouldn’t really appreciate the details, but I knew he’d pretend.”
“I’m glad for your sake that he pretended,” Sierra said, putting some distance between her and his sister.
“Okay, we’ll go, now that my brother is properly impressed. But, Sierra, I would like to extend an invitation to you, to participate in some of our pre-wedding activities.”
“Pre-wedding activities?”
Melody walked back down the stairs, staying next to Sierra while Max forged on ahead of them. He knew the look in his sister’s eyes, the one that said she had a plan.
“Yes,” she went on. “We’re sewing a honeymoon blanket. It’s a very old Assyrian tradition and my grandmother insisted. We are all taking part. My mother, grandmother, sister, myself, aunts, cousins. My quilt is patchwork, a little of the old country with the new. If you’ll join us in the next couple of weeks, just bring maybe a scrap of material from an old shirt of yours. I want to make this blanket about the people in my life.”
Sierra opened her mouth as if to object. Max had stopped in the large entry foyer and he watched, waiting for her to come up with an excuse. Not that Melody would accept excuses.
He knew what his sister was up to. She liked the wedding planner, thought she was lonely and in need of someone. And he was that someone. His sister had always been a fixer, even as a child. When he had gone through his destructive teen years, she’d been the one constantly trying to find a way to bring him back to himself. She would plant herself in front of him, demand he stay home and read a book, help her with a school project, anything to try to win him back.
“Melody, it’s time to go.” He motioned her toward the door.
“Don’t get all bossy businessman with me, Maximus St. James.”
Sierra laughed a little.
“And this is why I don’t like to take her places,” he told Sierra. “Time for us to go home, Mel. Nonni is cooking tonight and you know she wants us all there.”
Melody gave Sierra another quick hug. He would have to explain to her that she needed to pay more attention to social cues. Sierra Lawson had a bubble and she didn’t want people stepping inside it.
He was more than willing to respect her wishes even if his little sister wasn’t. He hadn’t come here looking for ties to this community. He’d only come to make amends. Hope, Oklahoma, wasn’t his home anymore. In this small town he still felt the past hanging over his head. Everyone knew his stories.
Except Sierra Lawson.
But he doubted she was curious about him. She had her own stories. Stories she didn’t seem to want to share with anyone.
That was just fine with him.
Chapter Three
Sierra waited until the church bells rang before she entered the sanctuary and found a seat in the back on Sunday morning. Unfortunately she wasn’t the only one sliding in at the last minute. The doors opened and another latecomer entered.
This time Pastor Stevens noticed. He had just made a few announcements but he paused and smiled.
“I know several visitors are with us today. Why don’t we take a moment to greet our newcomers, and even those you might not have had a chance to shake hands with.”
Sierra groaned.
“Thought you could sneak in unnoticed?” Isaac West asked as he held out a hand. At least he knew she didn’t like hugs.
But the huggers were out there, lurking, waiting to wrap warm and welcoming arms around her. She winced at the thought.
“I tried,” she admitted.
Before she could say more, she was surrounded. It felt a lot like a mob but she knew it was all about well wishes and not an actual mobbing. She eased away from the push of people, smiling and acknowledging their warm welcome while trying to beat back the claustrophobia that darkened the periphery of her vision. Somehow she managed to speak to an older woman who held her hand, telling her how glad they were to see her.
Someone else reached for her other hand.
She reminded herself that this was good. People were friendly. They were all glad she’d shown up. They didn’t know about her past, about growing up in the midst of her parents’ destructive relationship or the weeks she’d spent being held captive in Afghanistan.
Taking a deep breath, she managed to smile as she started to back away. She desperately needed space. The urge to be free of the crowd started to claim her in its grip.
“Leave it to me.” A solid chest brushed against her back and a deep but concerned voice rumbled near her ear. She didn’t turn. She knew who that voice belonged to. She didn’t want to rely on him, on anyone.
But now wasn’t the time to argue.
“We’re going to find our seats now. I think the service is about to start,” Max said with an air of authority that had the crowd moving away, reclaiming their seats. His hand, strong and warm, held her arm. The touch grounded her.
She allowed him
to take control, moving them to the refuge of a back pew. He released her arm as she took a seat but then he slid in next to her. Of course he did. He’d made it clear that they needed to find a seat before the service started. He’d said, “We’re.” Didn’t he know how small towns worked and that he had given people, even kind and well-meaning people, something to talk about?
“Are you okay?”
She wanted to tell him to mind his own business. That she could take care of herself. But all of the caustic remarks were buried beneath a layer of gratitude. She rarely allowed anyone to shelter or protect her. She didn’t know why it was him, a stranger.
Maybe it was easier to allow a stranger into her life than to lean on friends who had already done so much and knew too much.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He didn’t tease or mock. He merely nodded and reached for a hymnal that he handed to her. He took the other one in the back of the pew.
“I’m not always like this,” she felt compelled to add.
“I know.”
“Do you?” She lowered her voice, aware that one or two heads turned to give her a look. She didn’t wait for his answer, instead she joined the singing, not wanting to disrupt the service.
The music seemed to be God’s way of drawing her close to Him. It’d always been this way. Even as a child she would make excuses to ride her bike on Sunday morning so she could sit outside the neighborhood church and listen to the congregation sing. She never went in. Her father wouldn’t allow that. He hadn’t been a believer, so no one else had been allowed to believe.
The music touched the dark, hurting places in ways that sometimes the words of a sermon couldn’t. Even now, the music chased away the memories that had started to drag her down. It lightened her soul with words of hope and promise.
The sermon seemed directly related to the last of the hymns, focusing on new beginnings. She closed her eyes at the final words, that new beginnings sometimes required multiple tries. You might have to start again, but as long as you kept moving forward, there was hope.
His mercies are new every morning.
The congregation stood for a closing prayer and then headed toward the fellowship hall.
Again Max walked next to her, his hand on her back, guiding her through the crowd. She didn’t need him guarding her. True, he was tall and broad-shouldered, an able bodyguard.
But she knew how to take care of herself. It was safer than relying on someone who might not be there when needed. Or someone who might let you down. She had rescued herself from the nightmare of her parents’ divorce. She’d rescued herself from her captors in Afghanistan, managing to overpower a guard as American forces fought to enter the compound.
Yet here she was, allowing Max St. James to lead her through the sea of people, as if he were her Moses, parting the Red Sea for her to get safely to the other side.
“I know you can do this yourself,” he murmured very close to her ear. As if he’d heard her thoughts.
“Of course I can.”
She kept walking and realized that not once did she feel the dark edges of panic. His hand was on her elbow. He was strong. His presence was real. It was solid. He smelled good, too. Something expensive, with a touch of citrus and mountain air.
People spoke to them as they walked, as if no one noticed anything unusual about the two of them. Or so she thought. As they entered the fellowship hall, she spotted the people who would have questions. Kylie West, once the therapist at Mercy Ranch, and a wounded warrior herself, spotted Sierra and her eyes narrowed. Isaac West, Kylie’s brother-in-law, had a more amused expression. And then there was Melody St. James and others that Sierra assumed were Max’s family.
The two of them entering this room together was creating a firestorm of speculation. Not something she wanted.
She pulled away from him.
He released her. “You’re okay?”
“I am.” She meant to say it with a touch of rebuke but it came out softer, as if she were reassuring him. She let it go. “Thank you, for back there. For bailing me out.”
“Anytime.”
Then he left her and joined his family. An older woman greeted him with a hug, making him bend down so she could kiss his cheek. Sierra guessed her to be Nonni. She was a small woman in a floral dress, with graying dark hair pulled up in a bun. After kissing his cheek, she began to talk, gesturing rapidly with her hands. Melody laughed and gave her grandmother a hug. His parents, whom Sierra had met during initial wedding planning, gave Max hugs. His was a close family.
“Are you going to join us?” Kylie appeared at Sierra’s side.
“What?” Sierra pulled her attention away from Max and his family.
Her friend’s gaze trailed to the St. James family and returned to study Sierra.
“They’re lovely people,” Kylie said. “I’m glad they were able to buy back the ranch they sold. This was their home for a long time.”
“Yes, it’s good they were able to get it back.” Sierra clasped her hands together, trying to appear excited. “Let’s get this party started, shall we?”
Kylie raised a brow at her enthusiasm. “I’m not buying it, Sierra.”
“Oh, come on, you know I love big, festive events.”
They both laughed. The laughter shook loose some of the darker emotions she’d been feeling the past hour and a half. It felt good to have lighter emotions rising to the surface.
“Of course you do.” Kylie drew her toward the kitchen. “I thought you could serve desserts. Keep them cut, on plates, ready to be picked up by the guests.”
“Sounds easy enough.”
“It is easy. You’ll get to socialize a little, serve dessert and have fun.”
Sierra gave an exaggerated shudder. “Socializing and having fun. Two of my favorite activities.”
Kylie showed her all the cakes and pies, the table she would stand at, the plates and cutlery stacked up on the side. And then she looked past Sierra’s right shoulder and smiled a little too brightly.
“Here’s your helper now!” Kylie exclaimed.
“Helper?”
Warning bells went off in Sierra’s head. She looked up from the cake she’d been about to cut, expecting Max St. James. But she was wrong. It was his grandmother.
“Nonni, I’m so glad you can help us.” Kylie gave the older woman a hug.
“I’m glad to help. I have so many fond memories of these church dinners.” Nonni extended the smile to include Sierra. “And you, the wedding planner, I’m so glad we can finally meet. Melody talks of you constantly.”
“I’m not sure why!” Sierra said.
Max’s grandmother smiled big. “Because you say what you think.”
Sierra felt a rush of warmth slide up her neck. “Oh, there is that.”
Nonni patted her arm in a motherly way. “We would like for you to join us, working on the honeymoon quilt. And, also, if we could talk about food. Maybe we can add a few traditional dishes to her reception dinner. I don’t want to take over.”
“Nonni, don’t tell fibs.” The deep voice came from behind Sierra. “You always want to take over. They say it’s where I got my type A personality.”
Nonni’s forest green eyes sparkled with joy. “Max, you’re going to help us serve dessert?”
“No, I don’t think so.” He moved to his grandmother’s side, smiling at Sierra as he placed a protective arm around his grandmother’s shoulders. “I have things to do.”
“Watching football isn’t a thing to do,” Nonni warned. “We’re serving dinner today. You can miss the game just once. You and your father. You can help with dessert. Your father can help with cleanup.”
“I’m not sure about that,” Max countered.
“Oh, I am sure.” Nonni smiled brightly and the battle was won.
It happened tha
t quickly. One minute Sierra and Nonni were working the dessert table and Sierra thought it might be fun to get to know this older woman. And the next minute Max became a part of the equation.
Sierra had been backed into a corner. The only upside to the situation? The sweat on Max’s forehead as he realized he’d been outmaneuvered by his grandmother.
* * *
Nonni had a way of making him feel trapped. He loved her and would do anything for her. Which was the reason he stayed to help serve up cake and pie. He stayed, knowing she had something up her matchmaking sleeve.
Not something. Someone. Specifically, Sierra Lawson. She obviously didn’t see why this project had failure written all over it. He wasn’t interested. And neither was Sierra.
In his mind, a matchmaker only worked when a person wanted or needed help finding love. His grandmother, on the other hand, liked a challenge. She seemed willing to try matching the two most unwilling subjects.
Fortunately for him, he had experience dealing with Nonni. Sierra had been taken by surprise. A sneak attack by his grandmother. She’d adjusted quickly, though, and was now listening intently as his grandmother talked about food and recipes.
His grandmother pointed to her kilecheh. “These are our Christmas cookies,” Nonni told her. “The rolled pastry is filled with dates, the other is filled with nuts, sugar and cardamom. They’re very good. Try one.”
“I shouldn’t.” Sierra held a hand up to protest but Nonni stuck a pastry in that protesting hand.
“No, you should. They have no calories at Christmastime.” Nonni laughed at her joke. “These are my grandson’s favorites.”
He reached for one as Nonni watched, waiting for Sierra’s response.
“They’re very good. Is that a yeast dough?” Sierra asked after finishing the small date-filled pastry.
“It is.” His grandmother glowed as she began to tell the younger woman all about her kilecheh.
His grandmother loved sharing traditions and loved a willing listener even more.
Sierra asked questions in her serious way. She wasn’t a person who gave false compliments, he realized. She seemed very detail-oriented, matter-of-fact in her questioning. He guessed this to be the reason Jack West had given her the job of running the Stable. She also baked. He knew this because Melody had shown him photos of the wedding cakes, going on and on about how amazing and beautiful they were.
The Rancher's Holiday Hope Page 3