by Dara Girard
“Yup. I heard he sold that piece of land he had.”
“Do you know to who?” Although he already knew, Steven wanted to bait Mitch to see if he had more information to offer.
“Heard he sold it to that actress somebody. I don’t remember her name. Shame, because if I had known he was going to sell it I would have made him an offer.”
“So would we. He didn’t even let his family know. The younger generation doesn’t seem to see the importance of keeping a legacy. They have little or no respect for the hard work and years of sacrifice their ancestors made in order to turn this land into what it is today.”
Mitch held out his hands in a helpless gesture. “I wish I could tell you the news you want to hear, but I don’t have it.”
Steven nodded. “Fine,” he said as he stood. He then walked to his car, which was parked at the end of the long driveway.
Mitch let out his breath after Steven had gone. That had been a close call. He didn’t want to get on the bad side of a Broward. He walked inside and picked up the framed picture of Ray Palmer that sat on the marble tabletop in the hallway. He missed the man who’d been like a father to him. “You’re causing a lot of trouble. I hope you know what you’re doing.”
* * *
The day before the wedding Brooke went into town to shop for some food items for dinner that night. She’d been so busy preparing for the wedding and working in her studio, she hadn’t spared much time for going shopping, and her cupboards were bare. She caught a glimpse of the actress Samara Lionne on the other side of the street and again wondered why Granger, of all places, had captured her interest. Brooke looked away; she had her own concerns to think about.
“I can’t believe Jameson is actually beating his brother to the aisle,” Brooke overheard an older woman say from the next aisle. She recognized the voice as Mrs. Clarksdale, her fourth-grade teacher, a woman who seemed ageless because she’d always looked old. She had wiry gray hair with ice-blue eyes.
“Especially to a Palmer,” her friend Mrs. Lanke replied. A large woman with blond hair and a wide gummy smile, she was married to the local furrier.
“I think she’s so lucky,” her daughter Reba said. She looked like a younger version of her mother. “He’s so handsome.”
“That handsome face hides a hard heart,” Mrs. Lanke said with certainty. “Everyone knows his only true love is the BWB.”
“I feel a little sorry for her,” Mrs. Clarksdale said. “He’s probably only marrying her because he couldn’t get her sister.”
“Yes, Jameson is a one-woman man,” Mrs. Lanke agreed. “I doubt he’ll ever give his heart away again.”
“He’s marrying her, isn’t he?” Reba said.
“A man can marry without the thought of love easier than a woman can. I just hope poor Brooke knows what she’s getting into. She’s all alone with no one to advise her. Both her parents are dead and her sister is far away in New York. He’s probably marrying her just to add a few more acres to what they already own.”
“She’ll have the Broward millions to keep her warm,” Reba replied with a laugh.
“Cash can be cold comfort, no matter how much you have.”
“Besides, she’s not a gold digger,” Mrs. Clarksdale said in a defensive tone. “The Browards wouldn’t allow her into the fold if she were. They’re the only family she’ll have now.”
Brooke left the store. Was that how others saw her? As poor Brooke? Did they really think that Jameson was using her? She wanted to tell them that they were wrong about him. That he was a good man. That he was marrying her to help save her inheritance, but she knew she couldn’t defend him without revealing the truth. And they were right. He didn’t love her and their marriage would be a sham.
* * *
A Bride for Broward.
Sorry, ladies, but another Broward man is going off the market. The date is set and the guests are ready. But will the bride show up this time?
Charles Broward set the paper down and laughed. “This is the eighth story I’ve read about your upcoming wedding. You should see the pictures they have of the two of you online. Not even your father got this much press when he was getting ready to marry your mother.”
Jameson grimaced at his grandfather’s amusement. “That’s only because the internet hadn’t been invented yet.” The two men sat in the main family room eating their dessert of lemon meringue pie. “I hate reporters.”
“You’re news now, so get used to it.”
“It’ll fade. I’m not as interesting as Wes, and that Samara woman gets enough press for all of us.”
“True,” Charles said, some of his good mood fading.
“I thought you called me over to talk business.”
Charles shot him a look. “Life isn’t always about work.”
Jameson sighed. He respected his grandfather, but he wasn’t in the mood for a lecture. “I know that.”
“When are you going to start living?”
Jameson set his dessert aside. “I’m living now.”
“Then how come there’s no mention of a honeymoon?”
“We have a lot of business to take care of right now. There’ll be time for that later.”
Charles was silent for a moment then said, “I heard the bride is giving herself away.”
“You’ve been hearing a lot of things lately.”
“I may be old, but my hearing hasn’t faded. Am I right?”
“Yes.”
He nodded. “She’s got an independent streak. That’s good.”
“Why?”
Charles smiled then said, “You’ve finally met your match.”
* * *
Their wedding came with the sound of singing birds and not a cloud in the sky. Jameson was in his bedroom fighting with his cuff links, the words of his grandfather rattling in his mind. Had he finally met his match? What did he mean? How could Brooke be his match? She was hardly out of college. After their “arranged” year was up, they would get divorced and she would likely move back to her ranch and get someone else to help her and Mitch. His grandfather had it all wrong.
Jameson paused when someone knocked. “Come in.”
His brother, Wes, walked into the room and closed the door. He and his fiancée, Lydia, had returned from their European vacation to attend his wedding. Wes looked ready to be his best man with his close-cropped hair and goatee trimmed to perfection. He had a more muscular build and a more carefree attitude than Jameson, but he didn’t look carefree now.
“You know this is crazy,” Wes said, glaring at Jameson’s reflection in the mirror.
“What’s crazy about getting married?” Jameson said in a bored tone. In fifteen minutes he had to be in front of the preacher. Everything was on schedule. “You’re planning to.”
“I won’t be doing it so that I can get some land,” Wes said.
Jameson spun around to him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“People have been talking—”
“People are always talking.”
“Especially Mitch. No one believes you and Brooke are marrying for love.”
“So what?”
“When are you going to learn that people are more important than property?”
Jameson turned back to the mirror. “Funny how you suddenly feel in the mood to offer advice when you never take any.”
“You were wrong about Lydia.”
Jameson nodded, not too proud to admit it. “True. So, I guess that now makes you an expert on women.” He grabbed his jacket off the hanger and put it on. “You want to give me some tips about Brooke?”
“Don’t hurt her.”
Jameson turned to his brother, at first surprised and then angry, but he kept his voice level. “I don’t plan to. I don’t hur
t the people I care about.”
“I haven’t hurt anyone.”
“You weren’t around to see Dad’s and Grandpa Charles’s faces when they heard you’d sold your land. Or to hear Mom ask why you would do so without telling anyone. But that doesn’t matter. I forgot, you live by different rules. You’re free to do whatever you want.”
Wes shook his head. “You’re still mad about that? What’s the big deal? I didn’t want it anymore.”
Jameson narrowed his eyes. “You could have sold it to any one of us. Me, for instance.”
“I didn’t think you needed it.”
“I don’t think you were thinking at all.”
“So what if some Hollywood actress has taken interest in our town?”
Jameson frowned. “She’s up to something. But you’re too impressed by the glamour that surrounds her to notice. And, I forgot, the money.”
“You just don’t like outsiders of any kind.”
“I hope you don’t end up regretting your choice.”
Wes turned to the door. “Right back at you, brother.”
Jameson’s cell phone rang. He glanced at the number and tensed. It was Brooke. Why was she calling him? Was she backing out? Why did he care if she did? At that moment Meredith’s call repeated in his mind with agonizing clarity.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?” Wes asked, curious when his brother continued to stare at the phone.
Jameson swallowed then connected. “Yes?”
“Jameson?” Brooke said.
“No.”
“What?”
“Brooke, why would you call my phone and then ask me that question?”
“Because someone else could have answered. I just wanted to make sure.”
“Fine. Yes, it’s me.” He glanced at his brother then turned and lowered his voice. “Is something wrong?”
“No. I just wanted to say thanks for doing this.”
Jameson’s heartbeat returned to normal, then he looked at his brother and raised his brows, indicating that he wanted him to go, but Wes just smiled and folded his arms. Jameson curled his lip; his little brother knew how to annoy him. He had to choose his reply carefully. He couldn’t say “You’re welcome” because that would make Wes suspicious. If he said “Okay,” Wes might wonder what the question was. He had to keep his reply vague. He made a noncommittal sound, said, “See you soon,” and then hung up.
“Does the bride have cold feet?” Wes teased.
Jameson walked past him and opened the door. “It’s too late to replace you as best man, right?”
Wes patted him on the back. “You’re starting to develop a sense of humor.”
“I wasn’t kidding,” Jameson said in a tone that made his brother laugh.
* * *
The wedding was held on the grounds of the BWB estate. The entire ranch was decorated for the big day. The wedding planner, who had been given an open checkbook for the event, had flown in a French baker to make the wedding cake. She had also hired a well-known interior decorator to create an outdoor wedding chapel made entirely of white and red roses. The guests were all given a small token to take with them—Godiva chocolate, the best handmade peanut brittle in Montana and a fifty-dollar coupon they could redeem at the BWB ranch’s gift shop.
Gwendolyn had set the shop up as another source of income. She had discovered that people liked taking a piece of the ranch with them and had secured the talent of several local Native American artists to make artifacts and crafts bearing the Broward Webb Broward Heritage Ranch name.
The wedding brimmed with excitement as a live band played an assortment of musical scores as guests continued to arrive. Although no one from Brooke’s family was present, all the Browards were in attendance: Steven; Gwen; Grandpa Charles with his date, Polly Ann Weir, grandmother of the twenty-two-year-old Patti Weir, who’d won him at the bachelor charity auction; Laney; Wes and Lydia. Gwendolyn looked stunning in a designer Italian suit, and Steven wore a matching tuxedo. Laney had chosen to wear a simple but elegant, floor-length taffeta gown. Wes had indulged Lydia with a cream, lace sheath dress that fit her body like a glove. If her outfit had been white, she would have definitely been in competition with the bride, which seemed to those in attendance to be just what she had in mind. Once the groom’s family was seated, the minister took his position behind the pulpit, Jameson and Wes took their positions and the band began playing the wedding march.
As Brooke walked down the aisle, she noticed Jameson’s quick intake of breath. Then she saw a small smile when her hand-tooled cowboy boots peeked from beneath her dress. He seemed to like what he was seeing. Then she looked at Gwendolyn. The older woman smiled, but Brooke wasn’t sure if it was from pity or welcome. She hoped it was the latter. The Browards were now her new family, at least for a time, and she desperately wanted a place where she belonged.
When she reached Jameson’s side, Brooke suddenly realized that there was no turning back, but she didn’t want to. Soon they exchanged rings and spoke their vows and then the pastor announced, “You may kiss the bride.”
Jameson leaned close and whispered, “I’ll make it look good if you will.” Then he planted a heart-stopping kiss on her lips. Brooke could hardly hear the shouts of congratulations and had to stop herself from leaning in closer for more.
Her lips still burned from his kiss moments later when Brooke threw her bouquet. It flew through the air over the many women vying for it and fell directly in Laney’s lap, the only single woman who hadn’t left her seat to catch it. Laney glanced down at the flowers then burst into tears and ran from the reception. Unfortunately, because all eyes were focused on them, Brooke was unable to go after her. Instead, she stayed by her new husband’s side as they circulated and began meeting their guests.
The reception was held under a massive white tent with a wooden dance floor. But Brooke still couldn’t convince Jameson to dance.
“Please,” Brooke said, a little desperate. “Everyone expects it.”
Jameson suddenly grabbed his leg then winced.
“What’s wrong?”
“I think I pulled a muscle.”
“Boy, you better dance with your bride or I’ll really give you a reason to wince,” Steven said, overhearing their conversation.
Jameson groaned, took Brooke’s hand and led her to the middle of the dance floor with as much joy as a calf being roped. The musical ensemble quickly changed to play the song that Brooke had selected. Jameson pulled her in close to him and began dancing with a smooth rhythm that stunned her. Brooke became aware of how sleekly muscled he was, the scent of his cologne and the powerful way he moved.
“I thought you said you couldn’t dance,” Brooke said, sounding more breathy than she wanted to. She had to act nonchalant. She didn’t want him to know how much he affected her.
“I never said that,” he said, his voice a deep rumble. “I said I don’t dance, not that I can’t dance.”
“You should do it more often.” She smiled up at him, eager to cross the chasm that still separated them. Just because their marriage was false didn’t mean they couldn’t have some fun. “Especially now that you have someone to dance with.”
“I’d rather play darts.”
Brooke laughed, although his admission that he’d rather play darts than dance with her hurt. “Your ego can take me beating you?”
Jameson only smiled.
* * *
From across the room Steven sat alone at his table and watched the couple. His wife had pulled off a miracle. The wedding had been perfect, but something about Jameson and Brooke bothered him.
“What are you thinking?” Charles asked, taking a seat next to him.
“Nothing.”
“The father of the groom shouldn’t look so suspicious. What’s on your
mind?”
Steven looked around. “Where’s your lady friend?”
“Powdering her nose. Now stop avoiding my question.”
“I’m thinking what everyone else is probably asking themselves. What the hell is going on here?”
“A wedding,” Charles said. “There’s nothing more to it.”
Steven looked at his father, amused. “You don’t believe it.”
“I want to believe it.”
“But you have doubts.”
“Jameson is a smart young man. I guess I have more faith in your son than you do.” He nodded to the pair. “They make a handsome couple.”
“That’s not what makes a marriage last.”
“You caused quite a stir in your day. People wondered why you were really marrying Gwendolyn and look at the two of you now.”
“Did you have your doubts?”
“Does that matter now?”
“Right.” Steven sighed. “I should trust him, but what worries me is that he’d go for a Palmer of all the women out there.”
Charles shrugged. “When it comes to love, the heart knows no reason.”
Steven shook his head. “Jameson is not a romantic. Those two are up to something and I’m going to find out what it is.”
“It’s a done deal. Leave it alone.”
Steven didn’t reply. He still had a few questions he wanted to get answered.
“That’s an order, not a suggestion,” Charles said, as if he’d read his son’s thoughts. “Leave them alone.”
Steven lifted his glass and nodded.
* * *
After Jameson and Brooke finished their first dance, the floor filled with guests of all ages, from two-year-olds to octogenarians, including Grandpa Charles and his date. A catering company out of Helena had prepared a magnificent feast consisting of lobster tail, shrimp cocktail and baby back ribs in heavy spiced sauce. As for drinks, wine and beer flowed freely throughout the night and into the early morning.
Late in the evening, after the traditional toasts and ceremonial cake cutting, and the highlight, the removal of Brooke’s garter belt, Brooke and Jameson made their exit, leaving the guests to party in their absence. “Are you sure we should be leaving so soon?” Brooke asked as Jameson led her to his car.