Marrying Up

by Abby Knox

  Today's wedding is going much more smoothly. Whenever a couple is truly head over heels and not fussing over every last detail, it's my favorite kind of wedding.

  I watch the ceremony go off without any hiccups, and then I exhale finally when that's over. The reception is fairly hands-off, but the family invites me to stay for dinner.

  I wish I was in a place where I could only take jobs from nice, laid back people.

  The room is tastefully decorated with elegant white roses and LED candles. No imported flowers here, thank god. I look around the room and feel the love everywhere. It's one of the rare high-end weddings where kids are invited and it feels like a party. Everyone is dancing, everyone is happy, no drama. I just want to hug everybody.

  Maybe what I want is to dance with someone.

  Before I start feeling my feelings around all these people, I should probably go and get started on the Evans wedding. What I need is a challenge, so I'm looking forward to seeing how elaborate of a wedding I can pull off in a week, and the Evans wedding is just the challenge I need.

  Chapter Five

  Smitty

  "Let's go check on the mamas, Charmander."

  Yes, I named my horse after a Pokémon character. When I get to name the animals around here, that's pretty much how it goes.

  I had a fun time in the city, but I left a day early. It was not much fun without someone to spend it with.

  It's now Monday morning, and I'm headed to check on the mama cows who are due to have their calves any day now.

  Char saunters up to the birthing barn and I leave her by the water trough while I check on the girls. Currently, we've got about twelve moms close to birthing.

  When I come up on Slowpoke's pen, I see her pacing in circles and mooing. I approach and hold out my hand to rub her neck. "Baby's coming soon, darlin', don't worry. Any time now."

  I make sure she's got plenty of water and straw to get comfortable.

  While I'm mucking out some of the other pens, I hear all the usual sounds of morning on the ranch: birds chirping, cattle calling in the distance, brush hog clearing brush.

  What I don't expect to hear is the sounds of tires spinning and a small engine revving just outside the barn.

  "Be right back, Poke," I say to the cow and step outside. The pile of mud I see was probably a white Prius at one time. What I can gather from this scene is someone has driven onto the property, gotten lost, and gotten their hybrid rollerskate in the mud. The driver switched on the windshield wipers to clear the mud from the glass, but the windshield should be the least of anyone's concern because it's obvious by looking at the tires, that car isn't going anywhere anytime soon.

  It must be Ally. And Ally needs help. Slowpoke can wait; she's got hours of labor ahead of her.

  Standing in front of the vehicle, I wave my arms to get the driver's attention. Through the muddy windshield, I see the same woman whose social media I creeped on the other day. And, OK, about five or seventeen times since then.

  Ally has a countenance of determination that is admirable. She's very adamant about getting nowhere fast as she continues to pump the gas.

  Finally, she looks up and sees me. "What? I can't hear you."

  I have to chuckle as I walk over to the driver's side. Seeming to realize rolling the window down will probably result in making a muddy mess of the tiny motors inside her driver side door, she opens the door to talk to me.

  When she opens the door I see a dark purple blazer, hair tied up in a professional bun, and eyes that immediately soften when she looks me up and down, which makes me feel a bit bashful.

  "You colored your hair," I say, noticing a lighter shade than what I've seen of her online.

  She looks at me curiously and I realize I've just given myself away.

  "Mr. Smith?" she says.

  I nod and lift my hat and inch off my head and plop it back down. "That's me," I say, looking apologetic.

  She beams at me and her smile is just as killer in person as it is on the screen. Ten times more, to be honest.

  "You left the place very clean," she says. "Thank you."

  I can't help but smirk. "Yeah, I patched the hole in the wall real good. I told my redneck friends to cool it but they insisted on a full-on rager."

  She chuckles and says, "You covered up the evidence of your crimes impressively. I might have to hire you to clean the place next time I rent it out."

  I shake my head, feeling like a dope. "I'm sorry. You're stuck and I'm standing here letting your car sit in the mud. I'll help you get out."

  She replies, "I thought I had the directions right. Sam said to drive straight up to the barn, but he didn't say there wasn't any driveway. Do you know of a towing company I can call? I'm not familiar with this area…"

  I hold up my hands. "It's all right, just put your car in neutral and we'll get 'er out."

  She watches with interest as I phone one of the other ranch hands and tell him to bring the farm truck and a tow rope.

  I hang up and assess the situation. There are about two feet of mud between me and the driver seat. "Listen, it could be a while before my guy can get to the farm truck and get over here, so just come with me and I'll take you to the barn that Sam was talking about using for the wedding."

  She goggles at me. "There's more than one barn? I only saw the one."

  "Yeah, and it's even got a driveway for the caterers," I say with a smile.

  She looks sheepish. "Lemme grab my bag."

  She tosses it to me, and I take a step back when the weight of it hits me my chest.

  "Whoa, what do you have in this saddlebag? Every horseshoe in the county?"

  Ally cocks her head at me and says, "If the bride wants every horseshoe in the county as centerpieces for her wedding, they are for sure in that bag."

  I laugh as I hoist it over my shoulder and hold out my hand. "Here, I'll help you out."

  Giving me her hand, she pivots toward me, revealing two beautiful legs hampered by a pencil skirt. I can see this is going to be a problem because she can't spread her legs out enough to step across the mud puddle. Her purple suede high heels would never survive a misstep.

  "Look," I say, not entirely comfortable with what I'm about to suggest, "May I just lift you out?"

  She gapes at me for a second and then reality sinks in. She looks around. "I don't got this, do I?"

  "No, ma'am, I'm afraid you don't. But I'll be gentle, I promise."

  Chapter Six

  Ally

  Am I going to let this cowboy put his hands on me?

  Yes. Yes, I am.

  "Oh. Okay. Yes, I guess that's my only option right now. Or maybe I could just hike this skirt up to my waist, in which case I'll have to ask you to turn around." I whirl my fingers around in the air, my wordless request for him to turn away from me so I can have some privacy.

  His laugh pleases me so much I have to laugh as well, just imagining the scenario of having to remove my skirt to span a mud puddle. The sound of his laugh is pure without a shred of mocking.

  "What kind of gentleman would I be if I let a lady do that out in public, in front of the animals and everything?"

  I look over and see that a couple of cattle dogs and a few chickens have sauntered up to watch the events unfold.

  I give in with a resigned smile and lift my eyebrows. "I guess I'm all yours, cowb—oh my gosh!"

  I'm not prepared for the way his sure arms lift me out of the car, one arm supporting my lower back and the other under my knees. This is just what he said he'd do. I don't know what else I was expecting, but this move is making me pleasantly light-headed. Perhaps the musky scent of a hard-working man is pushing my buttons, too.

  "But now your boots are ruined," I say.

  He doesn't reply, only chuckles.

  He walks away from my car and I'm not sure where he plans to set me down. I have to admit, I'm also not sure I want him to set me down at all. His arms are like steel cables yet his hold is cozy. I haven't been li
fted like this, well, ever in recent memory.

  I used to date someone who liked to come up behind me and give me hugs where he lifted me off the ground with no warning. I hated it, not only because it scared the bejeezus out of me, but also because he often did it while I was in the middle of a conversation and the ensuing laughter from everyone always felt like it was at my expense.

  "So…where are we going?" I ask.

  His wind-burnt cheeks crease deeply when he smiles. "Char's gonna give us a lift over to the place you're looking for."

  I nod blandly and then realize he's talking about a horse. "Oh. You mean…"

  He gestures with his chin and I turn to look. Can't miss the big chestnut horse nodding his head, seemingly in agreement.

  This seems like an awful lot of inconvenience for one day. "You could just put me down and show me the way. I can walk."

  "Nah, you're going to ruin those pretty shoes if you walk from here to there. Ever been on a horse before?"

  I shake my head nervously as we approach, and I'm about to point out that a pencil skirt presents the same problem as I had trying to exit a car with a wide stance. But before I can say anything, it seems he read my mind.

  "Here," he says, setting me down on a dry patch of grass facing the horse. "Charmander, meet Ally. She's gonna make this place real pretty for Mister Sam's wedding."

  Listening to this big, rough and tumble country boy speak to his beloved horse as if it's a person does something to my heart. As does the fact that he named his horse after a Pokémon. It's so sweet I could cry.

  I hold out my hand to the horse and say, "Hi, Charmander."

  After I let the horse get to know me, I pet her broad, long muzzle. "I've never petted a horse before," I say, looking up at Smitty, feeling proud of myself. He smiles down at me, erasing any thought that maybe he'd be at all patronizing about my lack of experience with horses, as one would expect from someone who has spent their whole life on a ranch and just had to rescue a lady from a mud puddle. "Well, seeing as we'll be working together, can I call you Robert, Mr. Smith?”

  The cowboy holds out his hand to me. "You can call me Smitty. I was named after my dad, but we don't have to talk about that." His fingers are cool and rough around my smaller, much softer hand and the thought occurs to me he probably thinks I've never done a hard day of work in my life.

  Those creases in his cheeks and outside of his eyes are so appealing. I can't help but picture him in a light gray suit, freshly shaved, those light brown eyelashes catching the sunlight as he waits for his bride on a beautiful Saturday morning in a vineyard somewhere. Picturing people at their wedding has become a thing I do without thinking. I can look at a person and decide their flowers, their formal wear, color scheme, and whether the ceremony should be indoors or outdoors.

  "What," he asks self consciously, glancing around.

  "So, when's your wedding? I have some ideas already," I say, feeling a bit forward.

  He starts but continues to stroke Charmander's neck. I've got the long slope of her nose covered; she nudges for more pets every time I stop. Pointing to his chest, he stammers, "Me? No. I'm not engaged. I'm the best man. I mean, not the best man of all the men, but… well, you're the wedding coordinator, you know what I mean when I say 'best man'."

  The babbling might be even more adorable than listening to him talk to his horse. I might already be in love with this man. Not a personal "I love you, will you marry me" kind of love. It's more like a "you are a treasure and I must get to know you better and also protect you at all costs" kind of love.

  I decide then and there that the number one thing I want in a partner someday is someone who smiles easily, speaks lovingly to animals, and babbles when he's nervous.

  Am I wrong or is this big tough cowboy blushing?

  How does a person switch from ruggedly handsome to adorable in half a second? "Yes, I know what you mean. It's all in the inflection," I say, trying to keep from grinning like a Cheshire Cat. "If you say 'I'm the best man,' then you're in the wedding party."

  Smitty finishes the thought for me. "But if I say, 'I'm the best man,' then I'm just a cocky bastard."

  Oh boy, he just ticked another box. He's funny. It's also humorous to picture him ever trying to be a cocky bastard. I have no time for cocky. Confidence? A must. Conceited? No, thank you.

  "We understand each other," I say with a grin. "Still, I have questions. How is this going to work, with the two of us?" I ask.

  His eyebrows shoot up and his mouth opens slightly. "Uhm," he says. "Ma'am?"

  And now I realize he's misinterpreted what I've said. I pause for a beat, not hating the idea that he's taken another meaning out of what I said.

  "Oh, you mean riding the horse," he laughs. "No trouble at all, Ally."

  Before I can reply, he's on the horse. Using the saddle horn to anchor himself, he leans way over and holds out his arm to me. My hands go under my blazer to the zipper of my skirt. "I've got on a slip underneath, so let me just take off my skirt to make the climb a little easier. I swear you won't see anything."

  Smitty's face darkens and his voice sounds a little dry when he replies, "No, ma'am. Please keep your skirt on."

  If his manners aren't the most gentlemanly I've ever come across in a man, then I don't know manners. Just added another unexpected partner attribute to my list of requirements, and he quickly ticked that box.

  "I still don't see how—oh my!" I yelp in surprise for the second time in five minutes. Next thing I know, his powerful arm supports my frame, under my armpits. Before I can predict what's going to happen, I'm sitting side-saddle behind him.

  The entire transaction happened so quickly and smoothly, I have to wonder aloud, "Either you've done that before or you are some kind of superhero."

  His chuckle vibrates against the sleeve of my blazer where I'm clutching him from behind. He replies, "I've only done that before one or two times, with a small injured animal."

  I'm relieved he can't see the look of pure unadulterated heart eyes that I'm experiencing as I picture this person holding an injured calf in his arms and galloping off to find help.

  Calm your tits, Ally Campbell, it's probably not even like that.

  "Sounds like a bumpy ride for a poor injured animal."

  "Nah," he dismisses. "I hold the little ones right up close to my chest."

  Oh. My. God. I might pass out.

  All I can think of is the face of a tiny calf staring up at that scruffy chin with unwavering trust. My heart is going to burst out of my chest.

  As we ride, my body becomes very aware of Smitty's strong back, and I have to try not to rest my cheek against it.

  My eyes concentrate instead on the majestic scenery around us as we approach the barn that Sam and Wren intend to use for the wedding. A backdrop of rolling green hills, a creek just below the ridge, pine trees, and unexpectedly, a meadow of lavender. My mind explodes with ideas, and I begin to hope that Sam will let me incorporate those flowers into the wedding. It feels like paradise. A paradise for weddings, of course, not necessarily my paradise. I would go stir crazy if I had to live way out here without daily access to Ruby's Thai food.

  It might be a nice vacation, though. I don't think I've ever been this far removed from the city, or a city. My vacations are almost always in New York, London, Paris, Madrid, Rome. But never in the countryside.

  If I thought bouncing along on the back of a horse felt strange, simply taking in a breath, surrounded by blue sky instead of tall buildings makes me feel like I'm experiencing vertigo. Skyscrapers make me feel nice and hemmed in. Out here, there's nothing to block out the sky. I look beyond the woods and I can see weather approaching. There's a dark cloud forming in the, well, I guess it's the east. I'm not great at cardinal directions.

  When we reach a much more traditional looking red barn, Smitty lifts me down off the horse like I weigh no more than a sack of flour, but his strong hands deliver me as gently to a dry patch of ground as if I'm a treasur
ed porcelain doll. "Will all this work for you?"

  Yes, is my answer. Yes, that sun-tanned face and those arms and shoulders and chest, sculpted from real outside labor will work for me any day of the week, sir.

  His tanned forearms flex with his swift, effortless movements to hitch the horse.

  I realize I'm staring. "What? Oh…" Come on, Campbell, shake off the fog and pull yourself together, you've seen hot cowboys before.

  Yeah, I have, but not in real life and not with such criminally long eyelashes.

  "Yes," I say, noticing he's looking at me like I'm peculiar. "This barn makes much more sense. All of this," I say, indicating with a gesture the surrounding meadow, "it's all…"

  The way his head is cocked, looking at me with dark, smiling eyes, like he's trained on every word I'm saying, makes me self conscious. "Perfect," I say. "We're going to create the perfect wedding."

  He looks at Char and strokes the long slope of her nose. The cattle dog who followed us here is sitting pretty on his haunches and studying Smitty with one black eye and one eye that's ice blue.

  "Hear that, Pete?" Smitty says over his shoulder to the dog. "I agree with the lady. It couldn't be more perfect."

  The wink is so quick when he turns back to me, it's barely noticeable. But I caught it. The wink registered in the tiny tug of pleasure below my navel.

  Kind, tough, funny, flirty, and achingly polite. I almost can't take it anymore. This man needs to be kissed.

  Chapter Seven

  Smitty

  Inside I'm beating myself up for winking at her. What was I thinking?

  I busy myself while Ally digs things out of her huge tote bag: a huge three-ring binder, a measuring tape, fabric swatches.

  Seeing her look around for a table that we do not have, I roll a giant cable spool over to her and set it on its side.

  "Thank you so much, this table is perfect. How many more do you have?"

  I blink at her. Her defined dark eyebrows rise in a question. "Uh, well, it's not a table, ma'am. It's a spool left behind by the cable company?"