Wilde About You (Weddings By Wilde Book 1)

by Deb Kastner

  Matthew felt a sudden twinge of guilt. He’d been so wrapped up in his own discomfort that he hadn’t even thought to ask if there was anything he could do to make Brady and Chelsea’s rehearsal—and wedding—go any smoother. His role as the best man was more than just giving a speech at the reception and he’d been standing around mulling over nothing.

  Shouldn’t somebody be decorating for the wedding, or was that all done tomorrow, at the last minute? And what about a reception?

  Matthew didn’t know the first thing about weddings and hesitated to ask lest he appear ignorant, but it seemed to him, after Riley’s reminder, that somebody, maybe everybody, ought to be doing something instead of just standing around.

  Chelsea glanced at her step-counting fitness watch, a gadget that nearly everyone these days was wearing. Matthew didn’t see the point of those devices. He got plenty of exercise riding the range on horseback and herding cattle. He didn’t need his watch talkin’ to him.

  Chelsea frowned. “I have to say I’m a little concerned. Allie, my event planner, should have been here at least a half an hour ago.”

  “She probably just got caught up in rush hour traffic in Denver,” Brady suggested smoothly, giving his wife-to-be a reassuring smile. “Riley and I were listening to the radio on the way out here from the airport. It sounds like I-25 was a real bear today. Traffic piling up everywhere.”

  “That must be it.” Riley smiled and gave her friend’s arm a squeeze. “Father James is officiating, right? Why don’t I go find him and see if we can get this show on the road? The rehearsal should be fairly straightforward. We can do without Allie for now.”

  The brightness Matthew had first observed in the amber-haired woman hadn’t dimmed.

  “Come with?”

  Matthew’s gaze widened when he realized Riley was looking straight at him.

  Startled, he tapped his chest and raised his brows. “Me?”

  “You’re the best man, aren’t you? Come on.” She took his elbow and guided them both toward the door.

  Matthew couldn’t help but dig his booted heels in a little bit, but he wasn’t really surprised when she didn’t appear to notice.

  “Uh, yeah. I guess so,” he muttered, too little, too late. And it wasn’t as if she was listening, anyway. “But how did you know I was the best man?”

  “I’ve seen pictures. Chelsea loves to talk about her favorite subject—Brady Adams. Apparently, you are a big part of his life.”

  Matthew shrugged. “I don’t know about that. We work together.”

  “It has to be more than that or else Brady would have chosen someone else to stand up with him.”

  He grunted. “I guess.”

  “You don’t sound enthused.”

  His mouth kicked up in a half-smile. “Is it that obvious?”

  “You should work on it,” Riley suggested wryly. “As it is, we have to do our best to uplift poor Chelsea. She’s a wreck. I’ve been on the phone with her several times a day, every day this week. The ridiculous part is that she hired an event planner, Allie Something-or-other, to handle all of the details for this very reason, so she wouldn’t turn into bridezilla. Allie was supposed to take care of everything from the wedding rehearsal to the reception.

  “But recently, Chelsea’s been having trouble contacting Allie. Chelsea’s leaving messages, but they aren’t being returned. I told her not to worry about it, that Allie was probably busy putting together all the facets of her wedding and that Allie would show up today with everything well in hand.”

  She screwed up her lips into a little pout that did something funny to Matthew’s insides. “But now I’m beginning to wonder.”

  Riley hadn’t even taken a breath the whole time she’d been speaking.

  Way too many words for Matthew’s linear male brain to follow.

  But when the gist of the message finally hit him, it gutted him. He slammed to a stop and turned to face Riley.

  “Are you telling me Chelsea’s event planner has bailed on her?”

  Riley shrugged and tittered nervously. “Honestly? I don’t know. But I’m starting to worry that might be the case.”

  Matthew groaned. “Oh, man. Brady’s gonna flip.”

  “Brady? Goodness. I didn’t even think about Brady. Poor Chelsea. Brides make all the plans, you know, even though it’s technically supposed to be the couple who designs a wedding. The groom usually only wants whatever the bride wants—whatever makes her happy makes him happy. He doesn’t want to be involved in all the gory details.

  “Details,” she repeated, with more emphasis. “What are we going to do if everything falls through at the last minute?”

  “Wait. We?”

  “I’m probably borrowing trouble, but--”

  “Yeah, let’s not even do that,” Matthew cut in.

  If she was suggesting what he thought she was suggesting—that Brady and Chelsea’s wedding was about to take a nose-dive the day before the actual nuptials, and that he and Riley, as best man and maid of honor, were supposed to pull rabbits out of hats—

  So not going to happen.

  He was definitely not the cavalry-coming-to-the-rescue type. He’d be less than useless in any part of wedding planning. That event coordinator had better have arrived by the time he and Riley returned to the fellowship hall with the priest or he might be making an in-person and not-very-pleasant call to her office. He’d drag her out here by her ear if he had to.

  His thoughts had apparently not crossed his expression, or else Riley was ignoring his internal grimace.

  A grinning Riley held out her hand to him.

  “Partners?” she asked. If Matthew didn’t know better, he would think there was a touch of glee in her voice and exuding from her vivid hazel eyes, sparkling with myriad greens and golds.

  But she couldn’t be suggesting they pull off a wedding in a day, because everything she was implying would be nothing short of an unmitigated disaster.

  “I’m Riley, by the way.” Her grin widened, and Matthew’s throat closed around his breath. She was one hot commodity. He was the furthest thing from a lady’s man, but that didn’t mean he had trouble getting dates, or that he didn’t enjoy the company of beautiful women now and again.

  Usually, he was the one in control—of the beginning of the relationship, the duration, and how it ended, with very little emotion clouding his judgment.

  Right or wrong, that was how it had always been.

  But Riley?

  Something about the woman threw him off his game. Perhaps it was the impish gleam in her eyes, or maybe the way she attacked life at full-throttle, no holds barred. Whatever it was, he liked it.

  “Weaver,” she finished. “Riley Weaver.”

  The mention of her last name stung like he’d been unexpectedly slapped on his face, followed immediately by a bucket of ice-water dumped over his head.

  So that was why her name sounded familiar.

  “Riley Weaver?” he sputtered, barely able to believe his ill luck. This day was going from bad to worse with every breath he took. “Unbelievable.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise. “I’m sorry?”

  “You should be,” he ground out, his temper flaring. He lifted his black cowboy hat by the crown and jammed his fingers into his thick dark-brown hair.

  He shook his head. What were the odds of running into a Weaver at this wedding?

  Sure, they were in the general area of the—Weaver ranch—a name that still stuck in his craw and made him want to choke.

  But Brady was perfectly aware of Matthew’s history. There was no way he would ever act so underhandedly as to knowingly put his best friend in the same room with a Weaver.

  “Does Brady know?” he ground out.

  Her gaze clouded with confusion and her brow furrowed.

  “Know what?”

  “That your last name is Weaver?”

  “I can’t see what that has to do with anything, but no, I don’t think so, unless Chelsea tol
d him. Like I said, I’ve lived in Los Angeles since I graduated from college, so I really haven’t had any interaction with Brady.”

  She stepped forward, well into his personal space, and stared up at his face as if to divine the truth from his expression, to read in his eyes the things he had not said.

  As if she didn’t know.

  Every part of his being wanted to step back, to physically remove himself from a situation that was growing more uncomfortable by the second.

  But that was what had happened last time.

  With Uncle Travis.

  With Matthew’s father.

  They’d stepped back.

  And they’d left Matthew with nothing.

  “What’s the deal here?” Riley demanded, propping her fists on her hips and striking a pose that would have been intimidating if she wasn’t such a tiny slip of a thing. “We have work to do here. Why are you freaking out on me all of the sudden?”

  “My name is Matthew,” he said, drawing out the word as if, when he said it slower, it would have more of an impact. “Matthew Wilde.”

  ***

  So, his name was Matthew.

  Big whooping deal.

  As if that explained everything.

  Except it didn’t.

  His name meant absolutely nothing to Riley. It didn’t ring a bell at all. She didn’t know one single thing about a Matthew Wilde.

  Zip. Zero. Nada.

  Clearly, though, her name had set off firecrackers in his head. His hands were tightly fisted at his sides and she watched with interest as a plethora of emotions clicked like presentation slides across his face as he attempted to school his features.

  Shock. Offense. Downright anger.

  It might have been amusing in other circumstances, but right now, her focus was on making sure Chelsea’s wedding went off without a hitch, not duking it out with some random guy who clearly had her mixed up with an entirely different Riley Weaver.

  “I don’t have time for this,” she informed him dryly. “I’m going to look for Father James. You can come, or not, as you wish.”

  She turned and strode toward Father James’s office, not even bothering to look behind her to see if Matthew was following.

  Or not.

  This was neither the time nor the place to sort out whatever bee had gotten into the cowboy hat of the handsome, rugged cowboy who had turned into something akin to Jekyll and Hyde.

  Jekyll, she had liked. Hyde, not so much.

  He jogged to catch up to her and reached for her shoulder. His touch was surprisingly gentle, considering the stark look on his face.

  “You can’t just walk away like that.”

  “No?” She tilted her head up to meet his gaze. “I think I already have.”

  “You and I have a lot to discuss.”

  She couldn’t even begin to imagine what he meant. And besides, she had enough on her plate trying to fend off the possible—probable, at this point--appearance of bridezilla, without taking into account trying to deal with an insane best man.

  “So you say, although I honestly don’t have the foggiest notion of what’s bugging you. Still, since it’s obviously so important to you, I promise we’ll talk later,” she said, deciding that the best course of action, at least for the moment, was to humor him. “Just help me get past this wedding rehearsal without everyone having a major breakdown and I’m all yours.”

  His blue eyes widened and then he frowned. He seemed to consider her words for a moment, his teeth clamped so tight she could see his pulse drumming in the corner of his jaw.

  “Okay,” he said after an extended pause. He blew out a frustrated breath. “But don’t think for one moment you’re getting out of this. I’ve been waiting for most of my adult life to confront a Weaver.”

  He spat her name as if it were sour milk.

  The man was certifiable. But she’d think about that later.

  “Maybe I should be the one going back to the fellowship hall to check on Chelsea. I am praying the event planner has turned up while we’ve been away.” She figured it might be better, for a minute or so, for them not to be in the same room together. Give the rough and tumble cowboy time to cool his jets. And possibly give her a second to try to take a wild stab at what in the world he was talking about.

  Matthew Wilde.

  Nope. Still nothing.

  “I’ll get Father James and meet you back there,” he agreed with a surly nod.

  Riley returned to the fellowship hall to find Chelsea on the floor, collapsed in a sobbing heap and surrounded by her three bridesmaids, who were attempting without success to comfort her in her distress. Chelsea wasn’t a roaring, raging bridezilla.

  Not yet, anyway.

  Right now, she was a train wreck.

  Brady was on the other side of the room, pacing back and forth, clenching and curling the brim of his cowboy hat so hard Riley thought he might be ruining the shape of it.

  Riley’s heart leapt out to her best friend, sympathizing with her pain. Chelsea loved Brady so very much. He was everything to her, and she to him, and their special day was about to be ruined, thanks to the event planner’s no-show.

  Riley couldn’t even imagine what that kind of forever love felt like. She had only casually dated, but she’d never been in love. She had, however, had dreams suddenly taken away from her, having a rug suddenly yanked out from under her feet. So in that, she could empathize.

  But true love? Not so much.

  Who had time for that? With her dog-eat-dog career where she had to fight for every little scrap, she’d been too focused on her job to put any effort into a relationship, and recently she’d been too anxious about where things were heading in said career to have time to connect to the right guy on a deeper level.

  Not that she’d ever found the right guy.

  She supposed at her age she ought to be panicking that a potential husband wasn’t even on her radar. She wanted a family, after all. Four kids, at least.

  But she wasn’t going to go on an internet dating site fishing for one. If Mr. Right was out there somewhere, God was going to have to shove him into her life so forcefully that there was no doubt.

  Face to face. Nose to nose.

  Presumably, she’d know it was him, just as Chelsea had with Brady.

  Zero to The Wedding is Tomorrow in six short months. That’s how it had been for Chelsea and Brady.

  And now it was looking like pulling their wedding together was going to be a twenty-four hour miracle event.

  Assuming they could pull a wedding together by tomorrow at all.

  Without the event planner, they had nothing except the formalwear, which everyone in the wedding party had already picked up, Chelsea included. So at least she had her bridal dress.

  Just nothing to go with it.

  No caterer, no cake, no reception, no flowers.

  Nothing.

  Riley vacillated between wanting to comfort her best friend and needing to move forward on plans that she hoped would save the day.

  Ultimately, she approached Brady.

  “So, I’m assuming it’s a no-go on the event planner?”

  Brady punched his fist into his palm and growled in frustration.

  “She finally picked up the phone and talked to me a couple of minutes ago. She came clean about everything that’s happening. Or rather, not happening. Apparently, her business went under about two weeks ago. She said she was struggling desperately to stay afloat, but in the end, she lost everything and all of her contracts with vendors were cancelled.”

  “Which leaves you and Chelsea with nothing. Unbelievable.” Riley frowned. “Why didn’t Allie admit that her business had shut down in time for Chelsea to make other arrangements?”

  “She says it was out of the goodness of her heart. She wanted to honor this last commitment and was scrambling to find another way to do so. But without the vendors, she had—has—nothing.”

  Riley scoffed. “When, exactly, was she planning on tel
ling you all this? Or was she just not going to show up and let you guys down without a word?”

  “Door Number Two, I’m afraid. But after I’d phoned her number again and again for a full five minutes with no intention of giving up until she picked up, her guilty conscience kicked in and she answered to explain why she isn’t here.”

  “Unbelievable.” Riley shook her head. “I can’t believe anyone could be so thoughtless. Did she even consider what this would do to you guys?”

  “I have to believe she really was trying to do her best to come through for us. I think in her heart she didn’t want to admit defeat, rather than that she was acting selfishly.”

  Riley snorted. “You’re being far more gracious than I would be in your circumstances.”

  Brady’s concerned gaze flashed to Chelsea, still a sobbing heap on the floor.

  “I don’t like that Allie hurt Chelsea, though.” His jaw tightened. “I hate it when she cries, when I can’t protect her from pain or fix her problems.”

  Riley could only hope that if she ever did get married, her groom would love her half as much as Brady adored Chelsea. The wedding was only the first day of the rest of their lives.

  “But honestly, I’ve got nothing,” Brady admitted, his throat closing around his voice. “I’m fine with marrying Chelsea without any of the frippery, but she wanted her wedding to be special.”

  “We’ll do it,” came a deep voice from behind Riley’s left shoulder, causing her to start in surprise. “We’ll fix the problem, “Matthew continued, stepping in beside Riley.

  She couldn’t have been more shocked than if Matthew had started quacking like a duck.

  Where was the surly cowboy who’d been accusing her of who-knew-what horrible things? The man before her now was the epitome of strength and support.

  And he was 100% correct on one thing.

  They would fix this problem. Somehow, the two of them, along with the rest of the wedding party, would make this disaster into something wonderful that Chelsea and Brady would never forget.