by Duncan Leigh
“Ohhhh. Yeah, well, I gave my staff the night off.” Sarah took rolls of gauze and tape from the tackle box. “Otherwise they’d be here just a cookin’ and cleanin’. Brushing my hair for me.” She swept her ponytail over one shoulder.
He liked the way she giggled when she teased him. It made him feel accepted and welcome in a way he didn’t get from either his fans or the people who worked for him. He watched closely as she applied a thick pad over his blisters and wrapped gauze around his hand. “You know, you’re pretty good at this.”
“Well, I paid enough to learn how to do it.” She finished taping the bandage in place. “You’re wearing good gloves tomorrow, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He flexed his fingers. Thanks to the salve Sarah had used on his hands, the raw skin no longer stung, but a new pair of gloves was definitely in order.
Sarah took a moment to admire her handiwork. “All better,” she declared.
“Back in business,” he agreed, although it was probably a good thing he didn’t plan on performing for a crowd any time soon.
“Let me make you some dinner.”
He shook his head as she rose and headed for the stove. He’d never known anyone quite like Sarah. The woman worked had worked as hard as—or harder than—him today. She’d put herself through veterinary school, ran a boarding facility for horses, maintained a world-class garden, and she cooked, too. She was the whole, jean-wrapped package, curves and all. So why on earth was she still single?
“What say we go into town tomorrow? We can knock a few items off your list of wedding preparations.” Sarah pulled a frying pan from a cupboard and placed it on the stove.
The idea sounded good to him. He hadn’t really taken any time to look around Mill Town since he’d been back. It’d be nice to see how much things had changed in the thirteen years he’d been gone. Plus, a day away from mending fences would give his hands a chance to heal. He rubbed one corner of the Band-Aid. While they were out, he’d take Sarah’s advice and pick up a good pair of work gloves. He had a feeling they’d come in handy.
Sarah folded her hands on the table of the Mill Town Family Diner. She doubted anyone in the crowded restaurant would believe her if she announced that Bradley Suttons had carried a tool box out to her fence line. Or that he’d matched her nail for nail, board for board, wearing his custom-made shirt and fancy Italian loafers.
She gave the man across the table from her a wry smile. She would’ve bet good money against him showing up for a second day of mending fences. Or the third. Especially not in his daddy’s old work clothes and wearing a pair of broken-in work boots. But Bradley had kept up his end of their bargain, and he’d done it without a single complaint, even though she knew those blisters on his hands had stung pretty good.
Which left her with no choice but to honor her end of the deal and help him plan his wedding. A wedding that she feared was absolutely not going to make Catherine Mann happy. No matter how many times Bradley insisted Catherine wanted a simple ceremony, or what they did to spruce up the old barn.
“Hi there.” As their waitress stepped to the end of their table, Bradley ducked his head. Sarah tore her gaze away from him and stared up at the waitress, whose blue uniform stretched taut across her ample figure when she pulled a pencil from the bun at the nape of her neck. “What can I get for you folks?”
Sarah grinned at Bradley. Hoping to get through the meal without attracting any attention, he’d asked her to place their order. “Well, we will have two Bradley Suttons sandwiches and two Cokes.”
“Do you know he used to live here?” Their waitress scribbled in her pad without taking a single glance at her customers.
Unable to resist teasing Bradley just a little, Sarah quipped, “I heard he used to be married to a local gal.”
While Bradley’s eyes filled with mock horror, their waitress laughed. “No way!” she exclaimed. “I know everything there is to know about Bradley Suttons, and he never married.” In a voice filled with self-importance, she added, “Now, he is engaged to Miss Catherine Mann.” She wove her pencil into her hair. “And, he loves a grilled cheese sandwich.”
Bradley chuckled when the woman took off for the kitchen.
An answering snicker worked its way between Sarah’s lips. “Oh, she’s going to kick herself later.”
“Yeah.” Bradley agreed. He leaned forward and propped his elbows on the table. “Okay, so you’re taking care of the flowers.”
Despite a few misgivings, her head bobbed. “Mmm-hmm.”
“Now, we need a cake and some music and…”
She stopped him long enough to fight down a serious case of jitters that rose whenever she let herself think about planning her favorite actress’s wedding. If they had any hope at all of impressing one of Hollywood’s A-List, she’d need to get every detail perfect. “What is Catherine’s favorite flower?”
Bradley’s lips thinned, and a tiny divot appeared between his eyebrows. “I don’t—I don’t know.”
That made no sense. Even her self-absorbed, lying, cheating ex had known which flowers to send to earn her forgiveness. “You don’t know your fiancée’s favorite flower?”
“I’ve sent her flowers before. Plenty of times.” Letting his voice drop, Bradley leaned in. “But usually my manager handles sending them.” He let out a long, slow breath. “And her manager usually receives them for her.”
“Well, how romantic.” She rolled her eyes. Superstars like Bradley Suttons and Catherine Mann sure did things differently from most normal folks…and not necessarily for the better.
But she couldn’t fault him for his choice of sandwiches. When their still-clueless waitress slid their plates onto the table, her stomach gave a happy growl as she took one sniff of the buttery grilled bread, one glimpse of the golden cheese that drizzled between the slices. While they dug into their food, she peppered Bradley about his plans for the wedding and quickly discovered that, though the man’s heart was in the right place, he didn’t know the first thing about cakes or flowers or decorations.
Well, that was why he’d asked for her help, wasn’t it?
At Appledorn’s a little while later, Bradley stared at the array of fancy cakes in the window like someone who’d never stepped foot inside a bakery before. “So, uh, which one do you like?”
Sarah grinned. Bradley had tucked his hands in his pockets, a move she’d seen him make whenever he felt ill at ease. He really was out of his element, wasn’t he? “I really like it when they’ve got flowers all over them, and that way, everybody gets a little flower with their piece of cake.” She eyed a chocolate layer cake covered in white fondant, ribbons, and flowers. That one would almost do the trick. She stopped and gave herself a firm reminder that they were here to help Bradley plan his wedding, not hers. “What’s Catherine’s favorite flavor?”
“I don’t really know.” Bradley’s lips twisted into a wry grimace. “She never really orders dessert.”
“Well, no. Of course she doesn’t.” Sarah cringed inwardly. She should have known. Someone like Catherine would never binge on sweets. She’d be too afraid of gaining weight. Everyone said the cameras added at least ten pounds. Okay, so the flavor didn’t matter, but there were other ways to choose a cake. “What’s her favorite color?”
“I’m not exactly sure.” The furrows in Bradley’s brow deepened until he offered a hesitant, “She wears a lot of black.”
“Wait. You don’t know your fiancée’s favorite flower, favorite flavor, or favorite color?” She folded her arms. What was going on here? Either Catherine was extremely private about her likes and dislikes, or Bradley hadn’t bothered to learn much about the woman he said he loved. She searched his face for a satisfactory explanation, but reddening slightly, the man stared at the tips of his shoes like a guy who knew he’d done something wrong.
His hangdog expression melted her heart, and she
backed off. Bradley and Catherine had only announced their engagement a couple of weeks ago. They’d have a lifetime to discover each other’s likes and dislikes. She gave his shoulder a sympathetic tap while she offered some friendly advice. “Well, you’d better find out.”
Spotting the owner of the bakery at the display case, she left Bradley to ponder the cakes in the window while she wove a path between small tables to the back of the shop. “Hey Monica. We’re going to need a cake for a wedding.”
Beneath a mop of blonde hair, Monica’s face lit up like fireworks on the Fourth of July.
“You finally decided to settle down.” Quickly, she slid a lemon meringue pie onto a glass shelf. Hustling out from behind the case, she propped her fisted hands at her waist. The ruffles on her apron shimmied. “Well, who’s the lucky—” Instant recognition dawned in Monica’s brown eyes as Bradley turned away from the window. The baker’s lips moved, but no sound came out while she stared at the man who crossed the room to stand beside Sarah. At last, her voice hollow, she whispered, “Cake?”
“Yep. Cake.” Sarah waved one hand between Bradley and the shop owner. “’Cause that’s what you do here. Right, Monica?”
Whatever spell had had its hold on the baker, it broke. She grabbed the hem of her apron and twisted it between her fingers. Her shocked expression deepened into a silly grin the likes of which Sarah had never seen on her friend’s face in all the years they’d known each other. “Yes, of course. We do cakes.”
“Good. ‘Cause Bradley is gonna need a cake. For his wedding.” She pointed to the country star, who didn’t help matters much by turning up the wattage on his signature smile.
“I am so happy for you and Catherine,” Monica blurted. “I think y’all are perfect for each other.” She cupped one hand around her mouth and leaned in to share a secret. “I always knew you’d be famous. So…” She clapped her hands. Striding toward a large white board, where delivery dates crowded a hand-drawn calendar, she grabbed a marker. “When is the big day?”
“June first.”
“Whoa. Why, that’s only a couple of weeks away.” Monica dropped the pen into its tray. Turning to face Bradley again, she firmed her jaw. “But for you, I’ll make it work.”
“Thank you, Monica.” Bradley’s voice carried such sincerity that the baker blushed. He pointed toward the largest cake in the display window. “I’ll take the coconut.”
Sarah felt her eyes widen when Monica stumbled back as if Bradley had struck her. She watched as her friend pressed one hand to her chest.
“You can’t have that one!” the baker exclaimed. “Catherine Mann is allergic to coconut.”
“She is?” Bradley’s eyes narrowed while his brows hiked.
“She said so on The Tonight Show.” Monica shrugged. “Two years ago.”
“Okaayy. No coconut.”
Now that was interesting. From Bradley’s reaction, he’d clearly been in the dark about Catherine’s allergy. Sarah tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. How was it possible that ordinary fans like Monica knew more about his bride than Bradley did?
“So.” Monica’s grin lit up her entire face. In her excitement, she pressed fisted hands to her cheeks. Her voice climbed an octave. “How many layers do we want?”
“I don’t know.” Bradley stole a quick glance at the cakes in the window. “Two?” he suggested.
Sarah ran the numbers through her head when the groom-to-be glanced her way. The sheet cakes she ordered for Wednesday night church suppers fed fifty with a few slices left over. She nodded. Two layers should do the trick.
“Just two,” Monica echoed while disappointment filled her brown eyes.
The baker’s glum expression brightened when Bradley tried again. “Make that four,” he suggested.
Four. Sarah nodded again. Four was also good. And, while a four-layer cake decorated with white butter cream frosting and fresh flowers was still a far cry from the towering, gold-foiled, fondant-draped edifice she was certain someone like Catherine would expect, Bradley’s choice was an excellent one for the down-home wedding he wanted.
Chapter Eight
Fog still drifted across the valley when Sarah carried her coffee to the window the next morning. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth while she watched Bradley practice his riding skills in the paddock near the barn. From country music star to wedding planner to horseman, the man accomplished whatever he set his mind to. She’d give him that. She didn’t know many men who possessed his tenacity and drive, and, she had to admit, she admired those traits in him.
While he coaxed his horse to back up along the fence, she went over her plans for the day. Like any other morning on the ranch, there were animals to feed, stalls to clean. The florist in town had sent over a special order. She’d fill it before the dew dried on the roses. While she was in town making the delivery, she’d pick up another load of lumber for the fences. She and Bradley would put that to good use this afternoon.
And she needed to check on the status of her grant. In the bakery yesterday, she’d nearly choked when Bradley had announced his wedding date. Of all the days in a year, why had he chosen to get married on the very day she might lose her ranch?
She crossed her fingers. Maybe Bradley’s wedding would bring them both the good fortune they needed. Surely, a man who knew as little about his fiancée’s likes and dislikes was going to need as much luck as he could get. As for herself, another call to the Equine Rehabilitation Fund was in order. This time, she’d borrow on Bradley’s tenaciousness and refuse to give up until she got the answer she wanted.
“No, I don’t want to leave another message. I just—”
On the other end of the line, the receptionist cut her off. “I’m sorry,” came the voice of a stranger who didn’t sound at all sorry. “I’m the only one in the office today. Now, do you want to leave a message or not?”
“Okay, fine.” She sighed and shifted the armload of freshly cut flowers while she mounted the steps to the house. Cracking the screen door open wide enough to slip inside, she strode to the kitchen where she added jonquils and roses to an array of hyacinths on the table. “Please tell him Sarah Standor called…again. I’m still waiting to hear if I got the Equine Rescue Grant.” Tempted to leave it at that, she borrowed from Bradley’s stubborn insistence. It was up to her to make sure the foundation knew her situation was dire. She straightened and pressed the phone closer to her ear. “The bank’s gonna foreclose on my property in about two weeks. I got eighteen horses who won’t have anywhere to go—”
“All that information is in your application, Ms. Standor,” came the disembodied voice. “I’ll tell him you called. That’s all I can do.”
“Okay.” Frustrated, Sarah struck the table with the flat of her hand. The receptionist was only doing her job. Arguing would only make things worse. But no one seemed to care that, without the Foundation’s grant, she’d lose her ranch…and soon. “Okay, yeah,” she repeated. “Thank you.”
She took a deep breath and tried to relax. When that didn’t work the way she wanted it to, she studied the three dogs who’d sprawled across her couch. She could usually count on their sweet faces to make her forget her troubles, but not today. Today, nothing could quell the sense of dread that filled her chest.
Despite a calendar that edged from spring into summer, a bracing chill filled the air as Bradley slid a half-dozen 2x4’s from the stack of lumber in the back of Sarah’s truck. He eyed her where she stood waiting her turn at the other side of the tail gate. Though Sarah put everything she had into the job, repairing her fences was an all but impossible job for one person. How did she manage when he wasn’t around to lend a hand? Giving in to his curiosity, he asked, “You like living on a ranch all alone?”
“I’m not alone.” Sarah grabbed another stack of 2x4’s from the truck. “I’ve got my horses and my dogs and my flowers.”
> He glanced over his shoulder. Horses and dogs made good company, but they couldn’t swing a hammer or change a light bulb. Sarah’s flowers filled the air with good smells, but they couldn’t keep her warm at night. Crossing to a section where every cross piece needed to be replaced, he dropped the load of wood on the ground. “Is that enough?”
For one long second, Sarah stared at the cloudless sky. “No.” Sighing, she dumped her slats on the growing pile. “But I want what my parents have, and that doesn’t come along every day.” Her chin jutted out like it did when she’d been a kid and determined to get her own way.
“Ah, true love.” He grabbed another armload.
“Oh, come on.” Sarah’s mouth dropped open. “You don’t believe in true love?”
Why would I? Doesn’t love always end in heartbreak?
He thought about all the people and things he’d ever loved. His parents. Friends like Sarah and Adam. His life here in Mill Town. One terrible accident had ripped them all away from him. He shook his head. He and Catherine shared something far more practical, something Sarah clearly didn’t understand. He supposed he ought to explain it to her. He owed her that much. “I think you find someone you care about, someone whose company you enjoy, who likes the same things you like, wants the same things you want.” With the truck unloaded, he rested one hip on the tailgate and peeled off his gloves. “After that, it’s hard work and compromise.”
Sarah propped one hand on the quarter panel and cocked a hip. “I want someone who’s gonna love me forever, no matter what. Who wants to walk through life leaning up against me so neither one of us falls.”