One Wild Night

by Melissa Cutler

  Toby raised his eyebrows. “You would do that?”

  Skye looped her arm around Gentry’s. “We would.”

  She felt good at his side. Good and right in a way that Gentry refused to analyze. Sure, they were compatible, but that didn’t mean they needed to take that baton and run with it all the way to monogamy. He’d only break her heart, and they both knew it. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate her for the brief time they had together or for the inspiration that her mere presence filled his creative well with.

  Already, the beginnings of new songs were starting to take shape. If nothing else, helping Natalie and Toby elope, with Skye as his partner, would give him one hell of an adventure. His creative well would be full for months—or, at least, until his next album was done. Neil couldn’t stay pissed if Gentry presented him with an album full of potential hits, could he?

  Gentry looked Natalie in the eye. “We’ll do all we can to help—but only if you’re serious about this. Because you can’t take it back once you pull that trigger.”

  “We’re serious,” they said in unison.

  “Then it’s settled. Do you have the rings?” Gentry said.

  Toby patted his jacket.

  “What about the marriage license?” Skye asked.

  Natalie’s face went long. “No. We gave it to the wedding planner last night.”

  Luckily, Skye happened to be the best of friends with the wedding planner. “Okay, I’ll take care of that. But I don’t have access to a car because I caught a ride from my sister this morning.”

  “Naw. If we’re going to do this, then we’ve got to do it in style. We need a limo,” Gentry said. “Leave that up to me.”

  “Okay, then we have a plan. I’ll go get the marriage license while Gentry gets us some wheels. Natalie and Toby, get on your phone and start looking up elopement venues within driving distance, see if anything catches your eye. We’ll rendezvous here again in a half hour. You two stay put, out of sight,” she said to Natalie and Toby.

  Leaving the couple embracing and whispering their plans to each other, Gentry and Skye stepped through the barn door and into the blinding sun. The sound of a helicopter buzzing the building eclipsed all other sounds. The paparazzi Natalie had mentioned. Neil Blevins and the celebrities on the guest list more than warranted a full-court press by the media. The rest of the resort would be crawling with them too. Not to mention the five hundred guests who were all probably on the lookout for the runaway bride and groom.

  And Gentry had just agreed to help smuggle them off the resort. No problem.

  “You ready?” Skye asked on a whoosh of an exhalation.

  Gentry adjusted his ball cap. “Easy as pie,” he faked. “Let’s go make some wedding magic.”

  Chapter Five

  Skye wasn’t doing this because of an addiction to risk taking. Nope. This was about helping a young couple break free of their parents’ overbearing love. Yes, that help included smuggling the couple off of the resort undetected and against their parents’ wishes and potentially aggravating Skye’s working relationship with Briscoe Ranch, should anyone discover her involvement. But no one was going to be hurt, and Natalie and Toby had planned to escape regardless of Skye’s involvement, so she was completely absolved of responsibility. One might even call Skye’s participation a good deed—and it was pure coincidence that this good deed got her blood pounding with juicy, sinful adrenaline.

  Feigning nonchalance, she hopped into one of the golf carts staged near the barn for employee use and drove to the resort’s wedding chapel, which was situated on a grassy hill on the northwest corner of the resort, smiling and greeting guests and tourists as she passed. Nothing to see here, folks. Just a housekeeping worker making her rounds …

  The grounds surrounding the chapel were swarming with people, as expected. The chapel itself was too small to accommodate five hundred guests, so the ceremony was being staged in the chapel’s rose garden and would be spilling out into the flat, perfectly manicured lawn that was maintained for just such an event.

  Due to the high-profile nature of the wedding, Skye’s uniform was apparently not enough for the two beefy bodyguards controlling the flow of guests into the cordoned-off event. She flashed her hotel ID and all they did was frown at her until she smiled sweetly and said, “I got a call that there was an incident in the women’s restroom with feminine products. Blood and tampons everywhere.”

  That made zero sense, but she’d learned on the job that nothing made men disintegrate like the thought of menstruation. Sure enough, their faces contorted and all pretense of toughness vanished as they waved her through.

  She didn’t see Remedy outside, which meant she was probably in the chapel, where the bridal party was usually assembled before the ceremony. Sure enough, Remedy was in the vestibule, sitting with a middle-aged bleach-blonde in a skin-tight lime-green dress who was worrying a tissue into little bits that rained down on her impossibly tanned legs. Her puffy, cosmetically enhanced lips trembled as tears rolled down her cheeks.

  Skye caught Remedy’s attention and motioned with a tip of her head for Remedy to join her outside. After a few quiet reassurances to the woman, Remedy followed Skye out the chapel doors.

  “Who was that?” Skye asked.

  “The mother of the bride. She’s freaking out and tried to start a fight with the mother of the groom. And I don’t mean a fight with words. I had to literally pull them apart before they tore each other’s earrings off. So I don’t really have time to talk. The bride and groom ditched their photography session and no one can find them—and the wedding starts in a half hour. What do you need?”

  Skye braced her hands on Remedy’s clipboard. “I know where they are.”

  “The bride and groom? Thank God because this was on the verge of turning into a dumpster fire. Where are they?”

  Dumpster fire, ahoy. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t tell you. They’re canceling the wedding.”

  “They’re—what did you say?”

  “Natalie and Toby are calling the wedding off. They said they’re overwhelmed by the scope of it and how crazy their parents are getting. It’s not how they want to start out their lives together. So they’re eloping. And…” Here was the tough part. “Don’t hate me, but I’m helping.”

  Remedy lowered the clipboard on a sigh, nodding. “I could see cracks in their happiness, but I ignored it. What else could I do? A lot brides and grooms get anxious. I did my best to keep them out of the loop throughout this whole process except for big decisions, so they wouldn’t get stressed, but I can’t control their families.”

  “This isn’t your fault. It’s just two kids figuring themselves out and finding their voice.”

  “All right. I guess I’ll go tell their parents. Those mothers are definitely going to get into a fist fight now. At least the paparazzi that’s lurking around will get an even better show than they came for.”

  Remedy turned toward the chapel, but Skye snagged her sleeve. “No. Please. Not yet. We were hoping you’d help us stall until we get them off the resort grounds.”

  “We? Who are you working with?”

  That was the fun part. Skye wished she had the time to tell Remedy all about it, but that would have to wait. “Gentry Wells.”

  Remedy just about fell over sideways. “Gentry Wells, who’s supposed to perform during the ceremony and then again at the reception. Gentry Wells, whose music producer is Neil Blevins, the father of the bride? The ‘Beer O’Clock’ guy?”

  Skye had no idea what that last part meant. Beer O’Clock? “That’s him.”

  “And you know Gentry how…?”

  Oh, the stories she owed Remedy over a glass of wine when this was all said and done. “I don’t have time to explain. But I need your help with one more thing. We’re going to need their marriage license.”

  “I don’t have it. I already gave it to the chaplain.” She nodded to the rose garden, where an older man in religious robes was standing near a
flower-covered archway and podium, talking up a silver-haired man wearing a boutonnière pinned to his finely tailored suit. “And right now it looks like he’s talking to Neil Blevins, the bride’s father. I’m not sure we can get the license without tipping him off about the elopement. What we need is a ruse.”

  “Whatever it is, I’m in,” came a voice behind Skye.

  Skye and Remedy both jumped at the sound. They turned to find Granny June grinning up at them in a bright purple sequined skirt suit and a pillbox hat perched at a jaunty angle on her hair and leaning heavily on a cane.

  “You sure have a knack for sniffing out trouble you can get into,” Skye scolded with a heavy dose of affection.

  “Keeps me young.”

  Anyone else, Skye would have told them to mind their own business, but Granny June was perfect for this job. “We need a distraction.”

  Granny June snorted. “Does this have anything to do with the bride and groom I saw running across the lawn a little bit ago?”

  Remedy gripped her clipboard like she was imagining wringing Granny June’s neck. “You saw that and you didn’t come tell me? I thought you and I were friends!”

  “Oh hush. Of course, we are. I assumed they might be sneaking away for a little pre-wedding necking.”

  It was so Granny June to think that. “Not quite.”

  “The only person who’s ever ditched out on their wedding, as far as I can recall, is my granddaughter Haylie, and she had plenty of reason to. What’s this couple’s excuse? Are they calling it off?”

  “They’re eloping.”

  Granny snorted her disapproval. “They’re not going to get the Briscoe marriage luck if they don’t get married at the resort.”

  She had a point. There was no denying for anyone who’d spent a little time at the resort that Briscoe Ranch carried with it a heaping dose of mystical power in the love department. Love was in the air, and in the soil, and in the walls of every building. It sometimes felt as if people just couldn’t help falling in love there. It’s where Skye’s parents had met, as well as where her aunt and several cousins had found their mates. Skye’s sister and Ruben too. It was a charmed place that had all began with June and her late husband, Tyson Briscoe’s, wedding so many years ago.

  “We need to get the chaplain and Neil Blevins away from the podium where the marriage license is,” Remedy said. With a stern point of her finger, she added, “Without tipping anyone off.”

  “I’m on the job.” Granny June speared her cane at Skye. “But you owe me. My friend Meryl’s grandson is new to town. He’ll be at the Spring Kickoff Barbecue in two weeks, and I want you to make him feel welcome.”

  Of all the blasted things. But Skye gritted her teeth and nodded. What was one more man in the sea of them she was surrounded by? “Fine. But he’d better not be a dud like Vincent Biaggi.”

  “Then it’s settled.” She pushed her purple sequined sleeves up her forearms. “Leave this to me.” And off she went, a little skip in her step.

  Remedy gave a beleaguered sigh. “I don’t know why I’m helping you with this.”

  Skye hugged her. “Because you’re a good person?”

  “That’s true. But I think it has to do more with how overbearing the mother-of-the-bride has been. She’s a special breed of mothers-of-the-bride. That fight was the last straw. If I were her daughter, I’d want to elope too.”

  The next moment, the grating strains of a horn bleating out the notes to La Cucaracha drowned out the subdued sound of the string musicians performing near the bar.

  “Holy shit,” Remedy muttered.

  Granny June barreled through the crowd in her riding scooter, which was pointed straight for the front of the rose garden where the chaplain and Neil Blevins stood. The two bodyguards from earlier were hot on her tail, but they didn’t seem to have any kind of strategy to stop her beyond flapping their arms and shouting.

  Granny June paid them no mind, shouting, “Yoo-hoo! Chaplain Dickerson, I have a question!” As she threaded her way into center aisle between the rows of white folding chairs, she discretely dropped her cane to the floor of the scooter where it stuck out a foot on either side, snagging the two wide silk ribbons that had been strung along the innermost chairs in the rows to line the aisle like garlands.

  With the buckle of the first chairs as it dragged along behind her scooter, the guests leaped out of the way while others just stood, stunned. Some called for her to stop and others joined the bodyguards in their arm flapping, but Granny June would not be deterred. One after another, the chairs collapsed and trailed behind her like tin cans behind a Just Married car. Except these took out everything in their path, including a few guests, who had to leap out of the way.

  Remedy groaned and held her clipboard over her face. “I knew she couldn’t just do something easy and clean, like fake a heart attack.”

  Skye sympathized, but she kept her eye on the podium. The chaplain and Neil Blevins planted themselves in front of the podium, waving their arms and calling for Granny to stop, but she merely pressed her La Cucaracha horn again and waved to them. “Yoo-hoo!”

  The leather-bound folder on the podium contained the marriage license, Skye assumed. Holding her breath, she skittered across the temporary flooring that the podium rested on and threw open the folder. She nearly had her hands on the stack of papers, ready to dash away with them all and sort it out later, when the chaplain whirled around and threw his arms around the podium. “Quick! Get this out of her way!”

  He gave Skye the briefest of glances as he pushed the podium out of Granny June’s runaway scooter path. Skye could do nothing but stare after him—which is why she didn’t see …

  “Move it, Skye!” Granny shouted. The tires squealed as she yanked on the safety brake lever.

  With a yelp of surprise, Skye lurched to avoid hitting the scooter and stumbled backward, landing on her rear. “Ow.”

  Granny June stood on the scooter and grinned down at Skye. “Oops. My bad. But it looks like the brakes work, so that’s a plus.”

  “My bad?” Skye said. “That’s all you have to say?”

  The chaplain helped Skye up, which is how she noticed the leather folder tucked under his arm. Damn it.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  Skye watched Granny June attempting to execute a three-point-turn in her scooter, much to the horror of the guests who’d gathered around her to try and unsnag the chair ribbons.

  “I’m fine,” Skye said. “Just a little sore from the fall.”

  Neil Blevins blotted his forehead with a handkerchief. “Okay, good,” he said, almost to himself. “This buys us some more time while they get this mess cleaned up. Where’s that damned wedding planner?” he barked, storming off.

  Skye whipped out her phone and dialed Remedy. “Head’s up. Neil Blevins is headed your way.”

  “I see him. Did you get the license?”

  “No. What are we going to do? They can’t get married tonight without it,” Skye said.

  “Not in Texas they can’t. There are enough states that don’t have a waiting period to get married after applying for a license, but it’s already five o’clock on a Saturday. Outside of huge elopement destinations like Vegas, Nashville, or Niagara Falls, most county clerk offices are closed for the weekend.”

  “Got it. And thank you again. I owe you.”

  Remedy sighed into the phone. “It would have been such a beautiful wedding. But okay. I’m glad they’re happy with their choice. Don’t forget to text me when the coast is clear so I can tell their parents. And, hey, tell Natalie and Toby congratulations from me. Oh shit, there’s Neil. Got to go.”

  There was not a moment to spare.

  “Bye, Granny June!” she called. “Thank you for trying.”

  “You bet, kiddo! And don’t forget you’re still on the hook with Meryl’s grandson.”

  Oh joy.

  As soon as she rounded the corner near the barn where the bride and groom were hiding, she
saw a long, black stretch limo idling out front. She parked the golf cart and jogged over. The driver’s window rolled down.

  Skye’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of Gentry behind the wheel, looking cool as a cucumber in aviator shades and a ball cap, oozing that bad boy charm that she was fast becoming addicted to. And of course she was. There was a reason he was a rich and famous country music rock star, and it wasn’t because he was dull and hard on the eyes. No, he had an It factor that crackled with charisma and otherworldly good looks. Skye wasn’t the first woman to fall under his spell and she certainly wouldn’t be the last. “Please tell me you didn’t steal that.”

  He stuck his elbow out of the rolled-down window. “I think the proper word is commandeer. Climb on in. Let’s roll.”

  “Natalie and Toby are already in?”

  “In the back, plied with champagne, and totally into each other like almost-newlyweds should be.”

  She dropped into the passenger seat and Gentry reached across to wrap a not-so-gentlemanly hand around her knee. “You ready to ride with me, beautiful?”

  Man, oh, man, did he light her fire. “With you? Anytime.”

  Her only regret was that in helping Natalie and Toby, they’d be missing out on one last night together. Ignoring the pang of displeasure at the realization, she winked at Gentry. They might not have much time left together, but Skye planned to make the most of every minute of it.

  While Gentry navigated to the road leading away from the resort, Skye lowered the privacy window to the back of the limo. “Natalie and Toby, I’ve got some good news and some bad news for you. The good news is that you can still totally get married tonight.”

  “Uh-oh. I’m afraid of the bad news.”

  “The bad news is that, if you have your hearts set on getting married tonight, it won’t be in Texas because I couldn’t get the license without tipping your parents off. And believe me, I gave it my best try.”