Darn her sister for making perfect sense. “I’ll tell Owen.”
“I’m glad you two are back to talking. Though, from what I saw, you’re doing a whole lot more than that.”
Molly’s head snapped up. “What?”
“Your kiss at the Holly Daze Festival. It was scrumptious.”
When no one had mentioned Molly’s moment of weakness, she’d hoped—stupidly, apparently—that she and Owen had escaped her family’s notice.
“No big deal,” she lied.
“You should have told me. I practically spit out my breakfast when I checked the town’s social media page.”
Molly dropped the candlestick. “Social media page?”
“The town posted all the kiss cam videos from the entire weekend. Yours and Owen’s is there. In fact, you’re in third place.”
“Third place?” She dreaded asking.
“The town is having a contest. Viewers can vote on their favorite couple. The winner’ll be announced at noon on Christmas Eve. They win a dinner for two at the Poco Dinero. You really should go online and look.”
Molly grabbed her phone and with fumbling fingers found the page. Her stomach sank as her and Owen’s kiss cam video appeared, third from the top. Just how many people had watched it? According to the counter: 1897. Had Owen?
Well, he’d probably think it was funny, considering he hadn’t hesitated planting one on her the moment the guy pointed the camera at them.
“Oh, brother.” Molly closed the phone’s app and shut her eyes.
“You didn’t vote.” Bridget had watched over Molly’s shoulder.
“And I’m not going to.”
Bridget resumed plucking brown poinsettia leaves. “I don’t understand the problem. He’ll be leaving us shortly. When he does, there’ll be no conflict of interest and nothing stopping you two from dating.”
Molly recalled her and Owen’s most recent kiss. Like the others, the sensation of his lips on hers had lingered. If she concentrated, she could feel his skilled mouth coaxing a reaction from her. He hadn’t needed to exert much effort, Molly had participated fully.
“That’s not the only reason I’m reluctant. He’s not in a good place for dating. We talked the other night.”
“When you weren’t kissing?”
“Be serious. His kids come first. What if he decides shortly into dating that he can’t commit or that family responsibilities are too demanding?” Or what if he realized she simply wasn’t the one? That had happened to Molly before.
“Just watch the video.” Bridget’s voice softened. “Owen likes you. Anyone can see it.”
“We’re busy. I can barely carve out time to eat and sleep.”
“Why don’t you just admit it? You’re afraid of being dumped.”
Her sister’s observation struck a nerve. Was Molly manufacturing excuses not to date Owen because she was afraid of failing at yet another relationship? She was certainly afraid of failing at yet another job.
Molly detested self-examination. In her experience, the process was painful rather than enlightening.
As it turned out, she was spared. Owen chose that moment to breeze into the chapel, bringing the outdoors with him as well as memories of their searing kiss.
“There you are.” He strode toward Molly, taking off his cowboy hat and coat and dropping them onto a pew. The cold weather had painted a ruddy glow on his cheeks. “I was looking for you.”
“I bet,” Bridget murmured under her breath but loud enough for Molly to hear.
“I have some questions about Friday evening’s wedding,” he said.
Business. Molly hid her enormous relief. There was still a chance he hadn’t seen the video of their kiss. “Fire away.”
“Am I reading this right?” He unfolded a piece of paper Molly recognized as the notes she’d left for him earlier. “The Millers want to sing their vows?”
“They’re both musicians and wrote the song.”
“Okay. Should I stand to the side? Will they be playing instruments or is the music recorded?”
“Recorded. And they’ll be holding hands in front of you. A lot like a regular wedding.”
He had several more questions, and Molly appreciated him being conscientious about his job. She probably should have talked to him in person rather than leave notes, except then she’d be alone with him. Not that she expected him to kiss her again without warning.
“Have you heard back from Craft-Right yet?” Bridget asked when Owen and Molly were done.
“They emailed me an offer this morning. I’m reviewing it.”
He didn’t act very excited. “Not what you were expecting?” Molly asked.
“They made some changes from what we originally discussed. I’m going to counter after I’ve checked with a few friends whose opinions I trust.”
So, he was countering. That must mean he was considering taking the job. Hopefully for the right reasons.
“Darn.” Bridget made a sad face. “And here I was planning on you sticking around. Me and everyone else.” She cast a pointed glance at Molly.
Molly attempted to derail her sister. “Good luck with whatever you decide.”
“I’m free if you need a hand,” Owen said. “When Nora picked up the kids for a playdate, she told me you two are working round the clock getting this place in shape for the interview tomorrow.”
“Funny you should mention it.” Bridget smiled sweetly. “Molly is about ready to have a meltdown.”
“I am not.”
“What can I do?” Owen seemed oblivious to the subtle dynamics between Molly and her sister.
“Just have the carriage ready in case they want a ride.”
“I’ve been cleaning the stables and carriage house and polishing the harnesses. I’m planning on grooming the horses this afternoon.”
“What if we had the campfire set to light?” Molly asked. “That might make a nice picture.”
“Consider it done.”
“And several of the Christmas lights on the veranda are out. Can you replace them?”
Molly rattled off a few more items. Owen, good sport that he was, jotted them down on the paper with the wedding notes.
“How are we ever going to survive without you when you leave?” Bridget asked. “I’m becoming convinced the ranch needs a man around the place on a full-time basis.”
“I’ll come back anytime you ask.”
Bridget held up her phone, the display facing Owen. “Have you seen this? Yours and Molly’s kiss cam video is posted on the town’s social media page. You were in third place, now you’re in second!”
Molly groaned in frustration. Why couldn’t her sister keep her big mouth shut?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“NOW, I WANT you both on your best behavior.” Owen stared back at the two pairs of dark brown eyes watching him intently. “The ladies from the magazine are going to be here any second, and we need to make a good impression. Molly is counting on us.”
Amos snorted. Moses turned his big head away as if he couldn’t be bothered.
The horses were tied to the hitching post outside the stables. Every hair on their hide gleamed from a thorough brushing. Their polished hooves shone, their manes were braided with red and green ribbons, and their combed blond tails nearly reached the ground, thanks to Tracee.
Molly had no idea, and he hoped she approved. Owen had paid the teenager out of his own pocket. Yes, he was trying to score points with Molly. She’d appeared distraught yesterday when her sister showed Owen the kiss cam video.
He, on the other hand, was anything but distraught. He’d liked the video plenty and had downloaded it to his phone. He’d also cast his vote. If he and Molly won the dinner-for-two first-place prize, he’d use the opportunity to tell her how he really felt about her.
&n
bsp; With luck, he’d have a job by then. Craft-Right had yet to respond to his counteroffer in which Owen had asked for more creative freedom and more decision making authority. Something he thought might make the job more appealing to him.
After the kiss last Friday evening, he was ready to move ahead with Molly. He’d achieved his goal with the kids. Landing a good job was all that remained.
He finished attaching an old leather strap with six jingle bells to Amos’s bridle. He’d come across the strap and bells yesterday while cleaning the carriage house and thought, should the columnist and photographer want a carriage ride, jingling bells chiming in rhythm to the clip-clop of horse hooves would be a nice touch.
Hearing the bells now, Owen turned to see what had caused the horses to raise their heads. Three people approached at a brisk pace. Molly, a woman Owen took to be the photographer because of the camera bag slung over her shoulder and a third woman Owen pegged as the columnist by default. The columnist and photographer appeared delighted. Molly’s smile was strained.
His heart went out to her. She so badly wanted this interview to go well, and he was determined to do his part.
“Hello!” the columnist called out as they neared and waved. “You must be the wedding officiator slash ranch hand. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Owen tipped his cowboy hat. “Welcome to the stables.”
Both women proceeded to praise the ranch. Molly had taken them on a walking tour of the entire grounds, with the stables being their last stop.
“This place is a treasure. Very picturesque. Including these two.” The photographer removed her camera from the bag and immediately started snapping pictures of the horses from different angles.
“What kind are they?” the columnist asked. She’d already removed her voice recorder from her purse and activated it. “They’re so beautiful. And those ribbons and bells. Straight from the front of a Christmas card.”
“Haflingers. A type of draft horse. Would you ladies like a ride?”
“Yes! Love one. After the interview?”
“Absolutely.” Escorting them to the carriage house, Owen went on to explain a little about the rides and show them the wagon.
“Hayrides are usually requested by couples with large families and who want the full cowboy experience,” Molly contributed.
“Sounds fun!”
Owen liked the columnist and photographer. They were both on the younger side, in their early or midthirties, and clearly enjoyed their jobs.
“There are places where you can rent horse-drawn carriages for your wedding,” Molly said. “At the moment, we’re the only wedding venue in Arizona including it as a standard part of our package deals. And our cabins are unlike any others, making for a very special honeymoon.”
“So, tell us,” the columnist said to Owen, “what do you like best about marrying people, and how did you come to be a wedding officiator?”
“I’m just filling in for my uncle Homer. He’s the regular minister here at Sweetheart Ranch. He and Molly’s grandmother recently eloped. They’ll be home in a day or two.”
“We heard!” The columnist exchanged glances with Molly, her eyes dancing. “How romantic and perfect for the owner of a wedding ranch.”
“As far as getting ordained online, my buddy asked me to officiate at his wedding earlier this year.” Owen shrugged. “Luckily, I was available to cover for Uncle Homer while he and Emily went on their trip.”
“Because of Owen,” Molly said, “Sweetheart Ranch was able to open on schedule.”
Had she just thanked him?
“I adore this story. Owner and minister of wedding venue elope.” The columnist spoke as if reciting a headline. “We’ll have to come back for a follow-up after they return. Or at least call them.”
“Hey, I have a thought.” The photographer nudged the columnist. “You mentioned romantic shots on the drive here. Why don’t we have Molly and Owen pose for us?”
“Oh...” Molly instantly shook her head. “I don’t think—”
“That’s a wonderful idea,” the columnist agreed. “We don’t have to show your faces in the pictures. In fact, that would be better. Readers will be able to imagine themselves in the setting. Of course, we do want shots of you and Owen and your sister, Bridget, going about your normal duties at the ranch. Like you behind the registration counter and Owen driving the carriage. But we can use the pair of you for shots in a cabin and the chapel and...”
“Don’t forget the veranda.” The photographer returned from snapping a picture of the stables. “That pine railing and porch swing will make a lovely background.”
“Wouldn’t a real couple be better?” Molly asked, her tone tentative.
“You two are a real couple.”
“No, we’re not!”
The columnist appeared confused. “I watched your kiss video on the town’s social media page.”
Owen knew enough to keep quiet. Molly wouldn’t appreciate him commenting.
“The kiss cam is a gimmick at the Holly Daze Festival.” Molly faltered. “W-we were just playing along.”
“I see.” The columnist didn’t believe Molly, Owen could tell.
Neither did the photographer. “Nonetheless, I still want pictures of you and Owen.”
He thought there’d be no dissuading these two fireballs. Molly must have been of the same opinion, because her shoulders slumped in resignation.
The tour of the stables didn’t take long. Afterward, they walked to the nearest vacant cabin for the “couple” shots. There, the photographer instructed Owen and Molly to remove their jackets. She then evaluated them with a critical eye before asking Molly, “Do you mind taking down your hair?”
She tensed. “You said you weren’t going to film our faces.”
“I’m not. But long hair looks better from the back.”
“Okay.” She reluctantly removed the clasp holding her soft waves in a knot, and they instantly tumbled into attractive disorder around her shoulders.
“Honey, you have spectacular hair. Take my advice and never wear it up.”
Owen concurred one hundred percent with the photographer. He’d touched Molly’s hair only once and often recalled the silky texture against his skin.
“Thanks,” Molly answered self-consciously and finger-combed a few stray strands. “Where first?”
“I want a shot of you two sitting on the bed.”
Molly looked worried. Owen was sure he wore a happy grin. She was fun to be with when she was unsettled.
They followed the photographer into the bedroom where she had them sit on the king-size mattress, side by side and very close.
“Move a little to your right.” She gestured with her hand. “That way I can get the window and a bit of the headboard in the shot.” After they’d shifted, she told Molly, “Put your head on his shoulder, honey.”
Molly hesitated.
“It’s just a picture,” Owen whispered.
“Right.” She tipped her head to the side until it rested on Owen’s shoulder.
“There. Not so bad,” he said, deciding it was more like incredibly nice.
She swallowed.
“Relax.” Behind them, the photographer snapped away.
On impulse, Owen reached up and brushed her hair from her face, though he doubted the photographer saw.
“Fantastic. That one’s a keeper!”
Guess she did see.
They rose and Molly ran her palms down the front of her pants.
“That wasn’t so hard,” Owen whispered.
“I suppose not.”
“Let’s try a shot in the bathroom.” The photographer led the way.
“Bathroom?” Molly’s expression went from worried to scared.
“The tub is to die for.”
“You can’t expec
t us to get in there together.”
“Fully clothed.” The photographer laughed. “But I’ll shoot from an angle that shows only your heads.”
“What if they were toasting with champagne glasses?” the columnist suggested. “And eating something decadent like chocolate-covered strawberries?”
“Even better. Don’t suppose you have any?”
“Glasses, no problem. There’s some in the kitchen cupboard,” Molly replied. “We only have plain strawberries.”
“That’ll do.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Molly left to fetch the requested items. Owen chatted with the two woman about his officiating duties while she was gone. Molly returned shortly, her face flushed and breath short from hurrying.
“Lovely,” the photographer exclaimed, taking the items.
Climbing into the two-person spa tub was awkward.
Owen and Molly hunkered down so his shirt wouldn’t show. Molly’s hair covered her blouse and draped attractively over her arm. The photographer showed them how to hold the champagne glasses, saying she’d Photoshop the picture later so that it appeared as if the glasses were full.
Owen didn’t have a choice. In order to fit his long legs into the tub, Molly had to hook her legs over his. Even fully clad, there was an intimacy to their position. He didn’t have to worry about romantic stirrings getting the better of him. The photographer hovering inches away and filming from every angle kept him grounded in reality.
“That should do it for this room.” She put her camera away.
Molly released a very long sigh of relief when Owen helped her out of the tub, careful where he placed his hands.
“Where to next?” he asked, plunking his cowboy hat onto his head.
“The veranda?” the photographer suggested. “And then the chapel.”
“At least we won’t have any more embarrassing close-ups,” Molly muttered under her breath.
“Yeah.” Too bad. Owen had rather liked getting up close and personal with her. He only wished she’d felt the same.
“Oh, look!” the columnist said as they neared the house. “A porch swing. I forgot about that.”
“Owen, put your arm around Molly,” the photographer insisted when they were seated.
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