When the Cowboy Said ''I Do''

by Crystal Green

  Grace huffed out another you-shouldn’t-be-here sigh in the background as Bo sidled next to Holly, his gaze on her belly, his hand reaching out to it, just as he’d done last evening in the park.

  But this time, it seemed that he thought better of touching her bump for some reason, and he pulled his hand back.

  A bolt of sorrow hit Holly right in the heart. Had he started thinking of what she would look like when she popped and really began to swell up?

  Or was this charade getting to be too much for even him?

  He took a painful step away from her and said to Grace, “You’re coming to the wedding, right?”

  At his change, Holly tried to smile at the shopkeeper in the mirror as her heart crumbled. But why?

  Why should it matter?

  “I’m invited?” Grace asked.

  “Definitely,” he said. “Next weekend. We’ll send word of the specifics.”

  “Quick wedding,” Grace said. “But I read in the paper just why it’d have to be quick.”

  Right. All the stories about Holly wanting to wait, then changing her mind as her pregnancy became more obvious…

  “The wedding may be fast in the getting here,” Bo said, “but I’ve been in love with Holly for a long time.”

  Although Holly was getting used to reacting automatically to comments like that, when she smiled at her beloved fiancé, it wasn’t as easy as usual.

  But Grace wouldn’t realize it.

  Appeased, the shopkeeper became a Bo fan once again. “Champagne for the groom? Or club soda, as your bride asked for?”

  “The soda is good.”

  And Grace was off once more.

  Bo faced Holly in the mirror. He must’ve seen the questions in her gaze, because he stiffened, as if he wouldn’t know how to answer even if she asked him why he’d decided not to touch her.

  Six months, Holly thought. Was their short marriage going to be this complicated during that entire time?

  “So,” he said, brightening up. “Have you mulled over the something old, new, borrowed and blue stuff?”

  “I thought you weren’t a traditional guy.”

  “Not true. There’re some things I believe in. You know how I feel about my family, for instance.”

  Yes, she did, and she believed in Bo Clifton one hundred percent when it came to that.

  She held up her hand, where their engagement ring sparkled under the shop lights. “Here’s something old.”

  “What about something new?” he asked.

  She hugged her belly, indicating the baby while grinning, trying to get out of the funk she’d found herself in.

  “I like that. Hopper,” he said, and it looked like he wanted to touch the baby’s home again.

  But he didn’t.

  Holly tried not to let disappointment nail her. “Something borrowed?”

  She thought about how he was sort of borrowing her.

  He shrugged. “We’ll have to muse about that one.”

  “Okay. Then that leaves something blue.”

  “You got that covered.”

  He stared into her eyes, telling her that he was talking about the color of them.

  She almost forgot how to breathe.

  Blue, the gorgeous color of his eyes, too.

  Then Grace entered the room with the club soda, and Bo disconnected from Holly, as if he’d been discovered doing something he shouldn’t.

  But it was a good idea for him to realize the difference between the ruse and the reality, wasn’t it?

  Thank God one of them had it firmly in mind.

  Chapter Six

  That evening, Bo waited for his dinner guests in his ranch house, which sat on his property near Grant and Steph’s spread, Clifton’s Pride. His two-story cabin overlooked the creek and, on many nights, he spent the sunset hours on his wraparound porch, listening to the wind, hearing the trickle of water and the croaking of frogs. Farther on down his two hundred acres, his hired hands bunked down in cabins, nearer to the cattle.

  But it was getting too cold for porch sitting. And Bo didn’t have the patience for it tonight anyway, opting to work in his kitchen instead, getting together the fixings for grilled steaks and salad. Holly had offered to prepare some appetizers and dessert before she came over to his place, too, so he’d accepted, wondering why she hadn’t told him she would cook in this kitchen when he’d offered the run of it.

  Yet he was trying not to think about Holly right now. Trying not to think about the emotions he’d almost lost hold of at the bridal shop this afternoon.

  It’d been a real shock to see her in that dress. A velvet princess. A woman to have and to hold.

  But, for all intents and purposes, she wasn’t really his. Neither was the baby. So, no matter how much he’d wanted to be a part of that moment, with her staring at herself in the mirror as if seeing a fantasy come true, he’d talked himself out of it, and just in time, too.

  Still, he couldn’t forget Holly’s face when he’d drawn back from touching her on the stomach, where Hopper slept.

  Had he let her down in some way today?

  A knock sounded on his front door, and he walked over the floor planks to answer it. When he opened up, he found Holly, dressed in her usual wool coat, a roomy plaid skirt, boots and a dark sweater, which seemed to be tighter than the usual variety. He could even see a hint of baby bump under the knit fabric.

  A tide of heat rose up in him, a flood that threatened to take him over.

  “Come on in,” he said, stepping aside, pretending everything was on an even keel.

  Her cheeks were rosy from cold. She clutched a couple of shopping bags in her gloved hands, loaded down with the food she’d promised.

  “You just could’ve prepared all that here,” he said, repeating himself.

  “I already know my way around the other kitchen, so it seemed more efficient to do it at home.” Home.

  This wasn’t her home, he reminded himself, so why did the word tweak him?

  She smiled, a polite stranger after today in the bridal shop. Had she cooked in her own kitchen to show him that she was maintaining a safe remoteness? And just what did her sweet yet distant smile mean now?

  Behind her, Bo could see Grant and Steph pull into the drive. He raised his hand in greeting, closing the door partway to keep out the cold as he took the shopping bags from Holly and helped her out of her coat.

  Soon, the second half of their party eased open the door, greeting Bo and Holly with hearty how-do-you-dos. Grant was Bo’s age, and the cousins also shared the same piercing blue eyes. But Grant had dirty blond hair and was particularly tall—about a half-head higher, even after he took off his cowboy hat and hung it on the rack. He towered over his wife, Steph, a natural blond beauty who was nearly six months pregnant, with the same luminous skin as Holly, her green eyes sparkling with the happiness she and Grant had found together.

  They all went to the kitchen, where Steph took the plastic wrapping off of a cheese and fruit plate. Holly uncovered her own dishes: appetizers that included barbecued meatballs and bacon-wrapped water chestnuts, plus a panful of sinfully thick, moist brownies. She’d also brought some nonalcoholic cider for the pregnant girls.

  Bo had purchased some cider, too. Had Holly believed that he, the host, had forgotten about her needs?

  Or was she just that cussed independent?

  As the men grabbed beers from the fridge, the women fell into a conversation about their pregnancies. Under Steph’s cable knit sweater and maternity jeans, her tummy was much bigger and rounder than Holly’s, but Bo’s fiancée seemed comfortable with how she hadn’t “popped” yet. He expected most women would be discomfited by looking different from what a lot of people expected at seven months, but not Holly.

  Bo poured the cider for the ladies, then joined Grant in the living room, with its river stone fireplace, wooden arrowhead light fixtures and moose antlers above the mantel. It was a real bachelor’s den. He wondered if Holly would be getting rid
of some of his kitchy belongings when she moved in.

  Little did she know that he would go to the mat with her over those light fixtures.

  He and Grant leaned back against a leather sofa, watching the women through the peek-a-boo window of his big kitchen.

  In spite of what he’d thought before, Holly did seem at home in there. He could picture her, as his wife, making herself comfortable in every room.

  But what about with Bo? Sometimes it felt as if there was a room inside of him, too, a space that had stood empty for a long time…

  Grant said, “It won’t be long before Holly’s cooking up a lot of meals in there. When’s she moving in?”

  When Bo had asked his cousin to be his best man, he’d also told him the truth about the marriage. They’d always shared a bond because of the murder in the family, and Bo didn’t trust anyone more. That meant Steph was aware of it, too, but no one else besides the Cliftons and Rose knew about the charade. The fewer people who were privy to Bo’s private matters, the better.

  “We’ll be hauling Holly’s stuff here after the wedding.”

  Grant shook his head. “I still can’t believe it. You, married. But it stands to reason that you’d be going about it in your own way. With the speed of this wedding, you might as well have just eloped.”

  “The wedding won’t be anything fancy. Nothing more than a party with some I dos involved.”

  Grant didn’t say anything, just took a swig of his beer. It didn’t merit a rocket scientist to know that he didn’t approve of Bo’s scheming.

  After he’d swallowed, he said, “Your mom and dad. Are they coming to the ceremony?”

  Bo had contacted his parents at their separate homes—one in Billings, the other out of state in Idaho, where his father was enjoying retirement after handing the Thunder Canyon ranch off to Bo. Both had been equally stunned at his announcement.

  “My mom got after me for the short notice,” Bo said. “She’d already planned a big, nonrefundable trip to Italy that she’s been saving up a long time for. She’s wanted to go there forever, so I couldn’t argue with her about cancelling.”

  “But you’re getting married, Bo.” Then Grant seemed to remember that it was hardly a marriage.

  Bo steeled himself. “She said she’d make it up to me, but I have the feeling Mom would’ve come if my dad wasn’t going to attend.”

  “She’s still up to that? Making you choose between the two of them and considering it a betrayal if you refuse to play that game?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  He’d tried to say it without sounding affected, but disappointment leaked through, anyway.

  Grant noticed. “You watch—they’ll both show. Your mom wouldn’t dare miss her son’s big day, even if she has no idea it’s…” He stopped short of saying “fake.”

  Bo shrugged. Even his mom and her impossible standards for his father wouldn’t ruin this wedding or his plans. “You’d think, over the last few years after their divorce, she would’ve come to terms with all their arguments and differences.”

  “Aunt Nell could always hold a hell of a grudge. But she’ll come around, Bo.”

  “I’m not sure she will.”

  Bo jerked his chin toward the kitchen, relaying that he was going to check in with Holly and Steph. It was a good enough excuse to get away from the present discussion.

  He scooped up the dishes that the women had been hovering over while they’d laughed and compared more pregnancy notes.

  “What do you say we have a seat?” he asked.

  Steph walked ahead of him as Holly brought out the rest of the appetizers.

  “Sitting sounds just fine to me,” Steph said.

  Grant chuckled as he waited for her to come around to the front of the sofa, then took the spot next to her. “This coming from a woman who still can’t slow down.”

  “Hey, I’ve eased off giving the horseback riding lessons for now. I’m pretty good at resting like I should.”

  “You’re pretty good at anything you put a mind to.”

  He leaned over to kiss her, and they smiled, their lips lingering against each other’s for an extra second.

  Bo tried not to glance at Holly, even though he probably should be kissing on her, too, being lovebirds just like Grant and Steph.

  But he kept recalling his talk with Rose.

  He wouldn’t cross a line.

  Not unless Holly gave him a sign.

  The realization jarred him, and he lost the battle to keep his gaze off of her. She’d taken a seat in the cushioned leather chair opposite his. They were across the big oaken table from each other, but it didn’t seem like much space at all when she met his gaze, too.

  It felt as if the room got smaller, bringing him toward her, pushing them together…

  Holly was the first to glance away, her forehead creased.

  Something dropped within Bo. But what was it?

  What was happening with them?

  She filled a plate with appetizers. “Grant, you’ve done such a great job with the resort. It looks fantastic. I can see why it’s got such a reputation.”

  “I’m doing my best,” he said as Holly handed him the plate, the consummate hostess. She probably would’ve prepared something for Steph, too, but their other guest had already piled her plate high, grinning at Grant as he raised an eyebrow to her.

  Bo said, “Things will turn around for the resort.”

  “Is that the politician speaking or just a hopeful citizen of Thunder Canyon?” Grant asked.

  “They’re one and the same.” He leaned his forearms on his thighs, his beer dangling from his fingers. “You guys ever hear the story about the farmer in old Rome who was called away from his fields to fulfill his civic duty as a senator? He answered the call, but he didn’t do it because he wanted personal power or money. He did it because it was right. Because his fellow folk needed someone to speak up for them. And after his time on duty, he went back to his farm and took up his fields again.” Bo nodded. “That’s the kind of politician I’d like to be—the kind they all should be. That’s a hero.”

  Holly was watching him with a light in her eyes. It might’ve been admiration, and it spread to him, swirling inside his chest.

  What would it be like to wake up every morning, seeing this expression on someone’s face?

  On Holly’s face?

  Steph was looking at the both of them, as if she’d seen what had passed in their gazes.

  Holly snapped the moment when she softly asked, “What makes you answer this certain call of duty, Bo? Why did you want to step up and run for mayor?”

  Grant lowered his head. He already knew. So did Steph.

  Before now, Bo hadn’t told Holly much about himself. There’d been no need, but the words wouldn’t sit still in him as the passion—the anger—reared up again, just as it did every once in a while, a reminder of what shouldn’t be tolerated in this world.

  “You remember what happened at the Callister Breaks,” he said to Holly.

  She nodded, pressing her lips together, as if she regretted bringing it up. But it was too late now.

  Bo continued. “Rustlers took the lives of my uncle John and Andre Julen, and there’s not a day that goes by when I don’t remember. And I can’t even imagine how Grant and Steph must feel about it.”

  They’d discovered the bodies—Grant, who’d just gotten out of college, and Steph, who’d been a mere teenager. No child should’ve ever seen their dad like that, bloodied, tied up…

  Bo gripped his beer bottle as Holly turned to Grant and Steph.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  She was apologizing for the deaths and encouraging the topic, even though she clearly hadn’t known what she was doing by asking Bo about his reasons for campaigning.

  Grant leaned back against the sofa, Steph in the crook of his arm. “It’s taken years, but we’ve come to peace with it.”

  “But there’s no forgetting it,” Bo said. “Because, after t
hat day, the world changed. The cracks in it became more obvious. It took me a long time to figure out how to fill those fissures though. Then I saw people like Grant making Thunder Canyon a better place through the resort, helping this town to prosper and highlighting the best things about it. I saw Steph—absolutely in love with this place and willing to do anything for it. And you, Holly—there were people like you who came out of their homes and tried to uplift the community through their actions. I could do the same, I realized. I could make a difference.”

  He could change things.

  And what about Bo Clifton? an unwelcome voice from the dark of his head asked. Aren’t there some changes the ultimate bachelor could make in himself, along with the ones he’s advocating for Thunder Canyon?

  Grant delicately veered away from the subject by lifting his beer and saying, “To a better, brighter Thunder Canyon.”

  All of them picked up their drinks and toasted, yet Bo couldn’t help but notice that Holly was pretty quiet for the rest of the night, as if he’d said too damned much.

  As if she’d gotten in way too deep, just as he feared he had.

  The following week dashed by, and there was nothing Holly could do to stop it.

  It was full of wedding gown fittings, plus making sure her bridesmaids knew that they only had to wear a light blue dress and weren’t expected to be fabric-coordinated. It was crammed with meetings with Rose and Trisha, the retired wedding coordinator, to see that everything was on track.

  And on the actual day of the wedding, Holly took a deep breath, going forward with all of it, even if there’d been a whole lot of misgivings eating away at her since the dinner with Grant and Steph.

  Now, as she sat in a guest bedroom in Bo’s house, she pinned up the last of her curls, then adjusted her bridal veil’s headdress. In the mirror, the room expanded around her, surreal, a strange dream she couldn’t wake up from.

  This would be her room when she officially moved in with Bo, although she hadn’t transferred her personal items here yet.

  Her own bedroom, just down the hall from his.

  Erika came up behind her, putting her hands on Holly’s shoulders. The matron of honor was garbed in a light blue velvet dress that Bo had insisted on purchasing.