Last Year's Bride (Montana Born Brides)

by Anne McAllister

  Now he reached the massive dark double doors with insets of beveled leaded glass that led into the Graff. They’d been refinished, the dark wood gleaming, the bevels turning the light into rainbows. Troy had done more than give the old girl a facelift, Cole thought, preparing to haul open one of the great heavy doors. But as he did so, they opened automatically with a barely audible swish. Cole stopped, his eyes widening. Then, shaking his head in amazement at what Troy had accomplished, he strode in through a glassed-in airlock designed to keep the Montana winter outside while allowing a view of a lobby within. It would have done the Copper Kings proud.

  Marietta’s mining past had never reached the glory days its founders had hoped for. It had never, not even in its heyday, had the wealth that Butte once had. Marietta’s own entrepreneurs had done their best, but by the time Cole was born, the place had pretty much become a ghost town. It was hard to imagine it decked out in early 20th century finery.

  But tonight he saw clearly that once upon a time the aspirations had been there—or Troy had done a heck of a job paying homage to a past that had never been.

  He hadn’t spared any expense, that was certain. The high-ceilinged lobby wore its handsome mahogany furnishings, its thick plush rugs and polished marble floors with the ease of entitlement. In junior high Cole and Dillon and their buddies had skate-boarded across those floors. Now they gleamed. The whole place had the look of old money well spent.

  When he’d heard what Troy had planned for the Graff, Cole had had his doubts. “Kind of trying to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, isn’t it?” he’d said last summer.

  Troy had shrugged, then given him a flicker of that sly Sheenan smile. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

  Obviously Troy had seen potential there that Cole had never recognized. The Graff wore its new looks well. The prisms on the chandelier high above the lobby sparkled, tinkling softly as Cole and other late stragglers stamped their feet to knock off new snow, then headed toward the cloak room.

  “Whoa, look at you!” Sadie’s friend, Nicole, goggled at him when Cole handed her his jacket. Her gaze slid appreciatively over his charcoal suit, dark red shirt and black tie. “You clean up good!” Her low appreciative whistle and wide grin made heads turn. Strangers—city folk from the look of them—men in tuxes and women in long dresses—looked around to study him.

  Cole felt his neck heat. He had an urge to run his fingers inside the suddenly tight collar of his shirt. Em insisted she hadn’t starched his collar, but Cole wasn’t sure he believed it.

  “Want me to take your hat, too?” Nicole offered.

  “Nope. Thanks.” He’d feel naked without his hat.

  “Hat doesn’t make the man, Cole,” she chided.

  Maybe not. But he reckoned the hat was part of what Lacey McKay would want to see. Now he tipped it in Nicole’s direction just the way his grandfather used to do. Then he squared his shoulders and headed toward the sound of the music.

  Cole had never minded dancing. He’d shuffled and waltzed his way around his fair share of post-rodeo dances. His grandmother had taught him and his brother how when they were barely as high as her waist.

  “A gal likes a spin on the dance floor,” she’d told them. “You learn now, you’ll thank your old gran.”

  But this didn’t look like any dance floor Cole had ever trod. The thousands of tiny pink lights scattered across the ceiling looked like some Valentine version of the Milky Way. A fleet of large round tables with starched pink tablecloths sailed along the edges of the dance floor. Each table had a scattering of candles, a hearts-and-flowers centerpiece, and was set with fine white china, silver, wine glasses and goblets, all of which reflected the sparkling lights above. It looked more romantic than his brother’s Beacon Hill wedding reception had. Beautiful people were everywhere—and Cole recognized damn few of them.

  “Was I right or was I right?” Troy Sheenan appeared at his side, waved a hand to encompass the room, then slanted him a quick proud grin.

  Cole took a deep breath and shook his head, still not quite able to believe the transformation. “You were right. It’s amazing.”

  “Must be,” Troy agreed drily, “to get you here.”

  “Doin’ my dad a favor. I’m meeting McKays. You’ve met Tom?”

  Troy nodded. “Good man. Hope he comes back to town. Oh, hell. Jane’s waving. Gotta run. Have a good time.”

  Jane Weiss was the mover and shaker behind tonight’s ball. The head of the Marietta Chamber of Commerce, the reason for the Great Wedding Giveaway 100th Anniversary that tonight’s ball was celebrating, Jane had come to town last fall and had pretty much taken Marietta by storm.

  She and Troy had even dated for a while. They were still friends. So it could happen, Cole told himself. Maybe someday he could just be friends with Nell. But the sudden knot in his stomach didn’t encourage that line of thinking. He’d never just wanted to be friends with Eleanor Corbett, not from the moment he’d laid eyes on her. There was something about Nell that had caught his attention at once. With her heavy thick straight honey-colored hair, her flawlessly smooth olive complexion, and her dark slightly slanted eyes, deep brown with gold flecks, she had been radiant that afternoon—and every day thereafter. She was both exotic and undeniably beautiful. Her smile was as warm as it was friendly. And she always seemed to go golden in the sun.

  Now Cole resolutely pushed his memories away and looked around for Tom McKay. The tables were filling up. The room was crowded with people. Tom had purchased a whole table for the event and had even tried to get Sam to come as well, but of course Sam had declined.

  It was fine to bully his son into attending, but God forbid he should get duded up himself and put in an appearance.

  “It makes him uncomfortable,” Em had offered as an excuse.

  Cole knew the feeling. He didn’t like crowds much himself. But his dad had become more and more anti-social over the years. Rumor had it that Sam hadn’t always been a hermit. When Sadie’s mother had been there, the two of them had occasionally gone out.

  Not enough, apparently, because before Sadie turned two Lucy had left, had gone back to waitressing in Vegas, telling Sam she couldn’t stand the silence. Since then Sam had foregone sociability entirely.

  Em said, “That’s just the way he is,” and since his heart attack, Sam’d had an excuse for staying home. No one wanted to be the one who provoked another heart attack, so no one pushed him to do anything.

  “Ah, Cole! There you are!” Tom McKay came through a crowd, a smile on his face, a hand outstretched. “Glad you could make it.” His smile widened as they shook hands. “Come meet my daughter.” He smiled. “She’ll appreciate the hat.”

  Lacey McKay did appreciate the hat. She was a tall, slender girl, with a riot of red curls that might once have been tamed, but probably not in recent memory. At least Cole couldn’t imagine she’d done her hair that way on purpose. She confirmed his suspicion a moment later, confiding, “I love hats.” She twisted her fingers in her unruly curls and tugged at them. “They cover a multitude of disasters.”

  Cole nodded, liking her in spite of his misgivings about the evening. “They do.”

  Two years ago when he’d been bucked off a bronc at the Wilsall Rodeo and cracked his head on a fence rail, no one had ever known—except Nell—because she’d brought him home. He’d used his hat to cover the gash.

  “You should get stitches,” Nell had advised, crouching down next to him once they’d dragged him out of the arena. She’d been so close he could smell a fragrance of cinnamon and citrus on her.

  “A kiss will make it better,” he’d told her muzzily, still managing to give her his best come-on grin.

  “You think?” Her words had been gentle, but dry.

  They had only met that afternoon, and Cole didn’t ordinarily proposition women the instant he met them. But with Nell it was different, he’d been attracted from the moment he’d laid eyes on her. And he had been trying to figure ou
t how to get a kiss ever since.

  In fact it was probably why he’d bucked off—because he’d caught sight of Nell with her small digital camera trained on him just as he bucked out of the chute.

  Sitting next to him in the dirt behind the chutes, she had looked no less desirable, though definitely doubtful. But then her dark eyes had sparkled with amusement. “If you say so.” And, to his amazement, she rose up on her knees, bent forward and kissed him.

  Not on the lips. Not where he’d wanted the touch of her lips. But on the side of top of his head where blood had matted his hair, where a Mount Everest of a goose egg was forming, Cole felt the barest touch. It sent a shiver of longing straight through him. Instinctively he had closed his eyes, the more to savor it.

  “Better all ready,” he’d murmured, then opened his eyes a fraction. “Better yet if I could kiss you.”

  His buddies had hooted with laughter. “That line work for you, Cole?” Dane had chortled.

  It had, yes. With Nell. Not then. Not that night. That night he’d been concussed.

  But later...

  “—going to start.”

  “Huh?” Cole jerked back to the moment to blink at the pert redheaded girl looking at him with a quizzical smile. Lacey. Lacey McKay. “Sorry. I—” He stumbled over the words, cursing himself for his distractibility. There was no way to explain. So he just shook his head, said sorry again and made one more attempt to muster enough brain cells to stay in the moment.

  “I was just saying I think we should sit down,” Lacey suggested. “They’re getting ready to start.”

  Looking around now, Cole could see Troy at the main table being lectured by the formidable Jane. His buddy didn’t seem to mind. He was nodding, but he didn’t seem to be paying attention to anything she said. His head was inclined toward Jane, but his attention was focused entirely on the woman standing next to him. Cole noted that Troy’s fingers wrapped her wrist.

  She looked vaguely familiar and quietly beautiful. Wholesome, his grandmother would have said. Not a mover and shaker like Jane, Cole guessed, but steady and deep. As Cole watched, Troy let go of her wrist, but only so he could slide an arm around her.

  Interesting. And possessive. Not Troy’s usual style, Cole mused.

  Giving speeches wasn’t Troy’s style, either. He was a get-it-done guy, not a talker. So Cole was relieved on his behalf when Jane did most of the talking. She praised the Hotel, called it the Showpiece of Marietta, and thanked Troy for the faith he’d showed in the community by his commitment to bringing the Graff alive again. And then she did a neat segue into a short speech about the Great Wedding Giveaway.

  She talked briefly about the original contest a hundred years ago, then made a few comments about the range of contestants in this one. Couples from seventeen states had entered, she said. Not to mention two foreign countries. They had received nation-wide publicity on a number of human interest talk shows. Several articles had already showcased the event, and a television company had even expressed interest in tying one of their reality TV shows into the contest.

  “Do you know anybody in the drawing?” Lacey asked after Jane finished, and they turned their attention to the elegant meal.

  Cole shook his head. “Mystery to me.” And not one he was particularly interested in pursuing. It would be good for the town, they said. It would bring in business, put it on the tourist destination map, though frankly he couldn’t imagine why anyone would bother. But maybe, he acknowledged to himself, that was because he had other worries, more personal and immediate ones, like the second mortgage his old man had taken out on the ranch just last year, without a word to anyone.

  No one might have known even yet, Cole reflected now, if Sam hadn’t had another heart attack last spring and needed his son to pick up the slack.

  “Well, I think the whole thing sounds like great fun,” Lacey said now. “The wedding,” she clarified when Cole looked blank.

  “Oh, right.” Not given to hoopla— too much Sam’s son, Cole supposed—it all sounded appalling to him. He didn’t know much about it. All he knew he’d heard from Sadie who had written some ads for it in the Bozeman paper and had done some promotion as a marketing project for a course at MSU. Ever the optimist, Sadie swore it was going to be a great success. “Best thing that will ever happen,” she’d predicted, “for the town and for us.”

  God forbid, Cole had thought. Surely there had to be something better in store for the old town—and for the McCulloughs.

  “I’d like to get married here,” Lacey said brightly.

  Cole paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. “Married?” he said cautiously. Had the old man been setting him up after all?

  Lacey, seeing his expression and interpreting it correctly, laughed. “That’s not a proposal, just an observation. My dad has told me so much about growing up here, I felt like I was coming home the minute we landed in Bozeman. And here—” she gave a small wave of her hand “—in Marietta, everything feels just right.”

  Cole nodded. He supposed Marietta could look that way to someone who didn’t have a stake in it. Or to a kid, he amended, remembering how much he’d loved growing up here. It was just being an adult—having to make things work—that set his teeth on edge.

  “Maybe if you’re from here, you feel differently,” Lacey ventured. “Don’t you like it?”

  “I like it fine.” The words were barely out of his mouth when he heard the gruffness in them. He grimaced. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day. An ornery bull.” And a host of memories he could have done without. But none of that was Lacey McKay’s fault. “Marietta’s a great place,” he said with a determined smile and all the enthusiasm he could muster.

  “Yes, it is.” She took another bite, chewed and swallowed, then said firmly, “Thank you for coming tonight. I know you came because my dad asked you to,” she added a little stiltedly after a moment.

  “I was happy to come.” Well, maybe that was stretching things bit. But his reluctance wasn’t her fault either. “I like your dad. It’s nice to meet you. And,” he admitted, “I was curious about the hotel. I never really thought Troy could pull it off.”

  Lacey’s smile returned, looking genuine now. “It’s an amazing place. I saw photos of it on television—one of those human interest talk shows, you know, because one of those reality shows is setting a couple of episodes here.” She laughed. “That’s not why I wanted to come,” she assured him. “It’s because it means so much to Dad and, finally, I could.”

  That was when Cole remembered that Tom McKay’s daughter had been sick much of her life. He didn’t know all the details, just that it had been serious. Something to do with her liver or maybe her heart. He didn’t know which. He only knew she looked healthy now, though perhaps a bit on the thin side.

  “You’re okay now?” he asked.

  Lacey nodded emphatically. “All better,” she said with considerable satisfaction as she cut into her prime rib. “Amazing what surgery, when they finally perfect it, can do. I have a real future now, and I’m just eager to get out and actually have a life, do different things, meet different people.”

  “Like real live cowboys?” Cole gave her a faint grin.

  Lacey matched it, nodding enthusiastically. “Exactly.”

  Cole shook his head. “Can’t see the appeal myself.”

  “Because you are one. It’s no mystery to you. Everyone likes the novel, the unknown. It’s fascinating, don’t you think?”

  Cole couldn’t disagree. Nell had been a novelty in his life, that was for sure. He knew ranch people, small town folks. The only time he hadn’t lived right here was the year he’d gone rodeoing with Dane and Brian and Levi. And while that had certainly been different, the people he’d met were much the same as the ones he spent his life around. He’d never met a woman like Nell, born halfway across the world, raised in half a dozen university communities, a student of languages and the arts, someone who was getting her master’s degree from a California film s
chool.

  He was sure he’d been a novelty to her, too. He wondered again what she would think of the Graff, of the Valentine’s Ball, of the Great Wedding Giveaway. A woman who’d seen as much of the world as Nell would probably think they were small potatoes. But to be fair, she had loved the Wilsall Rodeo. She would probably think the Wedding Giveaway was charming. Certainly she’d take it all in stride. She was far worldlier than he was.

  He chewed thoughtfully and finally answered Lacey’s question. “Maybe. But finding something appealing and living with it day in, day out, are two different things.”

  She smiled. “So you’re saying I shouldn’t pin my hopes on marrying a cowboy?”

  “Don’t recommend it,” Cole concurred.

  “Too bad. I kind of like the hat and the boots and the ‘aw, shucks, ma’am’ attitude.” She was smiling, inviting him to smile, too.

  And he did, but his face got warm remembering that night in Reno when Nell had said pretty much the same thing. She’d been teasing, too, her eyes sparkling impishly as she had surveyed his unclothed body on the rumpled bed and mused, “I kind of like you without the hat and boots—and everything else—too.”

  Now the memory made Cole swallow hard and shift in his chair. He let his breath whistle out slowly through his teeth. He had to stop this, had to quit thinking about her. He stabbed his beef with more force than necessary, then determinedly he changed the subject.

  “So what are you going to do when you leave here?” He turned his head to look straight at her, hoping that by forcing himself to focus on the woman he was with, he could banish the one stuck in his head.

  “I’m not sure I am leaving,” Lacey said, surprising him. “I told you, I like it here.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “It’s elemental, the climate, the environment. Harsh maybe. That’s what Daddy would say. He worries. He says to take it slow. But I’m tired of being a hothouse flower. I want a little challenge. Or maybe a lot. I’m thinking about renting a place in town, looking for a job in Marietta.”