by Tina Leonard
Brett and Alisha’s wedding ceremony was only moments away from unfolding. Because of the extensive guest list—everyone wanted to attend—the couple was getting married in an outdoor ceremony performed at the ranch Brett had inherited.
Everything, including Liam’s band, which was providing the music, had been set up outside. A canopy was put up to protect the food just in case the weather decided to reverse itself and go from the predicted sunny to rainy at the last moment.
Right now, the sun was shining, but Brett scarcely noticed. His attention was otherwise occupied by the thousand and one details that apparently went into planning a wedding. Brett was concerning himself needlessly inasmuch as his brothers, especially Finn, had for the most part taken over making all the arrangements.
But, as the oldest, Brett found he had trouble relinquishing control and just sitting back. He had just too much riding on all this.
“It’s the ‘Wedding March,’” Liam reminded his older brother. “I think I can handle the ‘Wedding March,’” he said.
But Brett had to make sure. Liam was impulsive at times. “You’re not going to suddenly decide to jazz it up or put in a beat, right?”
“What the ‘Wedding March’ needs is to have you calm down, big brother,” Liam told him. “Just concentrate on remembering your vows and getting through the ceremony. I’ll handle the music, okay?” he asked, flashing a sympathetic smile.
Brett blew out a breath, doing his best to get this unexpected case of nerves under control. “Okay.”
“All you have to do is keep it together until the minister pronounces you husband and wife. After that, you’re home free,” Finn counseled.
“No, Finn. You’ve got that wrong. He’s getting married. He’s never going to be free again,” Liam deadpanned affectionately.
That was enough to make Brett rally. “You two should be so lucky,” he told them.
“Not me. I’ve got a lot of wild oats to sow yet,” Liam informed his brother happily. Glancing at his watch, he announced, “Time to begin. Last chance to do something stupid and run,” he said to Brett.
“Not a chance,” Brett replied. Squaring his shoulders, he went to stand at his designated spot at the front of the newly constructed altar.
As his best man, Finn stood beside him—and thoughtfully watched the proceedings unfold.
* * *
“THIS HAS TO be the most beautiful ceremony I’ve ever attended,” Connie told Finn as they were dancing at the reception. “And I’ve been to more than my share,” she confided.
At times it seemed like three quarters of her graduating class had all gotten married in recent years. Because of that, she found that it gave her less and less in common with people who used to be her friends. Their priorities slowly changed while hers had remained the same.
Until now.
“It’s incredible,” she went on to say, “considering that it seemed as if the whole town pitched in.” In her book, that should have yielded a hodge-podge. Except that it didn’t.
“They pretty much did—which is maybe why it turned out so well,” Finn speculated. He knew the world she came from involved wedding planners, something that was completely foreign to his way of thinking. “Wedding planners don’t have a personal stake in things turning out well, just a professional one. It keeps them removed.”
“Bartender, master builder, wedding organizer. I guess there’s just no end to your talents,” Connie teased even though she was only half kidding. “A regular Renaissance man, that’s you,” she told the man who filled her days and her dreams, as well.
“I don’t know about that Renaissance part, but I am a regular man,” Finn replied.
Not so regular, Connie thought happily. As far as she was concerned, the word for Finn was extraordinary. Each day she felt as if she loved him a little more. Now that she had made the bold move of detaching herself from her father’s company—with the stipulation that she be allowed to finish the hotel she’d started—she had half expected Finn to back away from her. After all, she wasn’t that rich woman she’d been just a short while ago, just a woman who was still determined to make her mark on the world—but for a whole different reason.
But instead of backing away, Finn had been incredibly supportive, telling her she was doing the right thing, especially when she told him that she wanted to form her own construction company and take on projects that would help improve the community where she chose to do her work.
The first place she intended to start was on the reservation. The buildings there were in desperate need of repair or rebuilding from scratch. She had enough in her trust fund, left to her by her maternal grandfather, to help her with her goals for a very long time to come.
“How do you feel about marrying a regular guy?” he asked her out of the blue, just after twirling her around as the music went from a slow dance to one with a pulsating beat.
It took her a moment to regain her balance. “Depends on who the regular guy is,” she said guardedly. She hung on to her imagination, refusing to allow it to run away with her.
“Me, Connie. Me.”
She stopped dancing and stared at Finn, completely stunned. Had she really heard him correctly? “You’re asking me to marry you?”
“That’s the general gist of this conversation, yes,” he acknowledged. “Move your feet, Connie,” he coaxed gently. “You’re attracting attention.”
She did as he asked, hardly aware of moving at all. “Really?”
“Well, you probably always attract attention, looking the way you do, but—”
“No, I’m not asking if I’m attracting attention,” she said impatiently. “I’m asking if you’re really asking me to marry you. Are you?”
His mouth suddenly felt dry and just like that, he completely understood why Brett had been so nervous earlier. One way or another, this was going to be life-altering for him. If Connie said no, he’d be crushed and if she said yes—well, she had to say yes, he told himself. He couldn’t live with any other decision.
“With every fiber of my being,” he answered her. Then, to further prove he was serious, Finn made it formal. “Constance Carmichael, will you do me the extreme honor of becoming my wife?”
“I don’t know about the extreme honor part, but yes, I’ll marry you,” she told him as her eyes welled up with tears.
As for Finn, his eyes lit up. The next moment, he sealed their agreement with one of the longest kisses that the good citizens of Forever had ever witnessed.
One of Liam’s band members, Sam, nudged him in the ribs and when he looked at Sam, the latter pointed toward the lip-locked couple.
Liam glanced over and then smiled. “Next,” he murmured under his breath, because it was clearly indicated that Finn was next when it came to being altar-bound.
Liam knew he would be the last Murphy brother left standing alone.
The thought made him smile even more broadly.
* * * * *
Don’t miss Marie Ferrarella’s next romance,
COWBOY CHRISTMAS DUET,
available December 2014 from
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Keep reading for an excerpt from THE COWBOY’S CHRISTMAS GIFT by Donna Alward
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Chapter One
Duke Duggan turned the slightly battered half-ton up the dirt drive to Crooked Valley Ranch. Whorls of dust swirled behind him, clouding the frosty road as he made his way to the ranch house he remembered from childhood. It hadn’t changed a bit. The white siding and dark green window trim was definitely dated, but the wraparound porch he’d always loved still skirted the house, making it welcoming and cozy-looking.
Or it would look cozy if not for the brown grass and nearly naked trees. November was a pretty bleak month—past the glorious splendor of fall colors but before the blanket of pure white snow that would soon fall in the small ranching town of Gibson, Montana.
Nerves twisted in his stomach. This homecoming hadn’t been in his plans. The letter from his grandfather, sent via the old man’s lawyer, was tucked securely in the breast pocket of his denim jacket.
Duke had still been in the hospital overseas when his grandfather had died, and he wished he’d been here to go to the funeral. Despite the tensions between them, Joe had still been family, and Duke had spent a good part of his early childhood at Crooked Valley Ranch. Those had been the years when his dad had still been alive, and as time passed, it felt to Duke as if the memories were slipping further and further away. He worried that sooner or later they’d disappear altogether.
That time hadn’t come yet, though. He clearly remembered the rolling hills in the shadow of the mountains, waving grass, horses and cows dotting the verdant pastures, and a bedroom decorated with rodeo wallpaper—his dad’s old room. His dad had taught him how to ride a horse before he rode a bike, and it was something he’d always enjoyed during the times he’d spent at his grandparents’ place.
Duke also remembered arguments between his mother and his grandparents, Joe and Eileen—particularly after his dad had died. Mom had never loved the ranch, and her mother-in-law and father-in-law had known it. Something Duke did remember clearly was his mother repeating that she only stayed at Crooked Valley because Evan had wished it while he was deployed.
Sgt. Evan Duggan—Duke’s father and hero.
Duke had only been eight when his dad was killed in Iraq. Twenty-two years ago now. With no further reason to keep her promise, Mom had moved them away from Crooked Valley and the small town of Gibson to Helena, where she took a government job and supported them all. Duke, along with his sister, Lacey, and brother, Rylan, only saw their grandparents occasionally after that. A week in the summer, and maybe once or twice during the year on holidays. Once they were teenagers and more concerned with friends and part-time jobs, they saw the Duggans even less.
Duke had liked the time he spent there in the summer. He’d been able to ride every day, hang out with the hands, most of who had known his dad as a kid, too. They’d shared stories with him that helped Duke feel closer to his father—a man Duke really couldn’t remember all that well beyond a shock of red hair, a big smile and a uniform.
He’d liked it here, sure. What kid wouldn’t enjoy the freedom of the great outdoors? But that was a far cry from wanting to be a rancher himself. Especially when he wasn’t consulted and part ownership was just thrown in his lap, piled on top of his other worries. He didn’t want the ranch to fall into a stranger’s hands, but that didn’t mean he and his siblings were equipped to step in. No sirree. He knew how to be a soldier. He’d been damned good at it. He didn’t know anything about ranching.
One-third of this tired-looking ranch was his—if he wanted it. Trouble was, Duke didn’t really know what he wanted—other than a good dose of peace and quiet. Maybe the odd chance to blow off a little steam once in a while. Time to figure out what was next for him, because he’d only been home for two weeks and he had no idea what he was going to do for the rest of his life. He was out of the army and, without it, he wasn’t sure who he was at all.
Duke slowed the truck as he reached the sprawling yard that contained the house, several outbuildings in need of paint and shrubs that looked as if they hadn’t seen a trimmer all summer. He frowned. It didn’t look like the prosperous, well-tended ranch he remembered. Maybe he’d be better off going back to Helena and bunking in with Ricky Spencer. Spence had given Duke a place to sleep and an offer of a job at his auto repair shop after Duke had left the army behind.
Except working with Spence would just be a Band-Aid solution. He sighed. This probably would be, too. But maybe, once he’d been here for a few months, he’d have a better idea about the future. Like what he wanted to do about it. He was a soldier, period. Except he wasn’t, unless he wanted to be a desk jockey. Without a doubt he knew he’d go crazy doing that. With his hearing loss being permanent, his options were more limited than they used to be.
He felt like a puppet, at the mercy of whoever was pulling the strings.
Duke parked the truck next to the biggest barn, the one where he remembered disappearing to each day in the summer to spend time with the horses. He got out and stretched his arms over his head. The weak autumn sun felt good, though it did little to warm him. The air was clear and fresh, though. He let out a big breath, a cloud forming in front of his face. What did feel right since returning home was the big Montana sky, the sun, the smell of the air. There was nothing like it in the world—and he’d seen a lot of places.
Birds chirped in the skeleton branches of the scrub brush, but Duke had a problem telling where the tweets and burbles were coming from. Losing half his hearing had been a blow, but at least he could still hear out of his left ear, and he still had all his fingers and toes. That was what he kept telling himself anyway. The gash on his arm had healed to a pink scar and so had the bruises. But the hearing loss was permanent. He was damned lucky he hadn’t been killed by the IED and he knew it. That didn’t mean there weren’t adjustments that he had to make. Or that he deeply resented having to make them.
“Hey! I said, can I help you!”
Startled, he spun to his right to see a man, much smaller than himself, marching toward him from the back of the barn. He squinted and realized it was no man at all—it was a woman, in jeans, dirty boots, a denim jacket similar to his own and a battered brown hat on her head. The words she’d hurled at him echoed in his head. I said, can I help you! Clearly they’d been spoken more than once and he hadn’t heard. He clenched his teeth, annoyed at his disability once more.
“Jeez, I called out three times. What are you, deaf?”
He raised a surprised eyebrow as the words hit their mark. “Wow. That was rude.”
She huffed out a sigh as she came close enough he could see her face. “Bad morning. Sorry.”
He looked closer. “I’ll be damned. Carrie? Carrie Coulter?”
Blue eyes looked up into his. “That’s right. And you are?”
It only took a half second after the words were out of her mouth for who he was to register. “Oh, my God. Duke Duggan?”
He hadn’t seen Carrie since what, third grade? Back then she’d had a space between her front teeth and freckles, and sandy blond hair that she always wore in a perky ponytail with pieces sticking out at her temples. Once he’d called her Freckle Face and she’d kicked him in the shin so hard he’d had the bruise for two solid weeks.
She still had the same pieces of hair sticking out and curling by her hat brim and the same freckles, too, only they were a little bit lighter now and the space was gone from her teeth as she gaped up at him, mouth open. Huh. Carrie Coulter had turned out quite attractive when all was said and done, even dressed in dirty jeans and a bulky jacket that didn’t do her figure any favors.
“Well,” she finally said softly. “I think hell just froze over. Didn’t think you’d ever make it back here.”
“Why not?”
He watched her lips as she answered. They were very fine lips, full and pink without even a touch
of gloss or lipstick. “Your grandfather always wanted you kids to come back and you never did.” Her eyes took on an accusing look. “I think it broke his heart.”
“His heart broke when my dad died,” Duke stated dispassionately. “Don’t get me wrong. I liked my time here as a kid, but after Desert Storm...” He frowned down at her. “It was always about my dad. Wanting us to take over the place since my dad never would.”
Duke had heard it so many times as a kid, how his father had failed the family. It was no wonder that Duke had rebelled against the idea of joining the ranch, instead determined to honor his father by following in his footsteps and joining the army. But it hadn’t only been about rebellion. Duke had wanted to be a soldier and he didn’t regret that move in the least. Not even considering his injuries. He’d served his country and done it proudly. It was all he’d ever really wanted to do.
“You didn’t hear how much he talked about you,” she replied, a little tartly, he noticed. Clearly Carrie had been devoted to the old man.
“You knew him better than I did.”
“My point exactly. What are you doing here, Dustin?”
She was mad. That had to be the only reason she reverted to his real name. He’d been Duke for so long that he was surprised anyone would even remember that his birth certificate said Dustin. It felt as though she was addressing a stranger.
He made a point of hooking his thumb in a careless gesture, motioning toward the back of the truck where two duffels sat side by side. “I’m here. As one-third owner of Crooked Valley Ranch.” To prove it, he took the letter out of his breast pocket and handed it to her, ignoring the slight feeling of panic he got just saying the words.
She opened it, walked away a few steps as she read the words. Words that had caused several reactions within him when he’d opened the envelope. Anger, grief and, strangely enough, fear. After all the places he’d been, things he’d seen, danger he’d been in, it was the idea of taking over Crooked Valley that made him most afraid.