A Cowboy's Christmas Proposal

by Cathy McDavid

  “It’s Monty Hickman.” He pulled back. “I need to get this.”

  Owen grabbed his phone and pressed the button on the dashboard display that transferred the call from the Bluetooth. He opened the truck door and hopped out, worried the kids might raise a ruckus. Not the professional image he wished to present.

  “Hello. Owen Caufield here.” He shut the door.

  While he listened to what Monty had to say, Molly waited by the front of the truck, giving him privacy.

  When Monty was done, Owen thanked the man, a mixture of emotions coursing through him. Until Monty had delivered the board’s decision, Owen wasn’t entirely sure he’d wanted the job or not.

  “Well?” Molly tentatively approached, her expression expectant. “Do we break out the champagne?”

  Owen pocketed his phone. “The board rejected my counteroffer. I either accept their terms or they give the job to someone else. I told Monty thanks, but no.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  MOLLY MOVED THE punch bowl from the center of the table to the right side, only to change her mind and move it back. Deciding the red ribbons on the silver candle holders were drooping, she fiddled with them until they looked worse than before.

  “Gosh darn it.” Face it, her concentration was shot.

  Owen hadn’t gotten the job at Craft-Right. More accurately, he’d turned down the job because the board rejected his counteroffer.

  He’d handled the news reasonably well. Quite well, in fact. Possibly too well. He’d told her not to worry, that he needed to start harnessing the horses, and promptly left for the stables.

  Molly was the one distraught. She’d been hoping he’d get the job for his sake. Owen placed tremendous value on being able to provide well for his children and also on his ability to bring a lot to the table in their relationship. Being unemployed didn’t sit well with him, more so every day.

  She wished she could go to him. That wasn’t possible, however. Everything had to be just right for today’s wedding, down to the tiniest detail. Not only for the couple and their guests but for the columnist and photographer from Southwest Bride Magazine.

  “Stupid ribbons,” Molly mumbled to herself.

  “Are you okay, honey?”

  She spun to see her mother entering the parlor. Apparently back early from the inn, she’d been in the kitchen helping Bridget with the punch and cake for the reception.

  “Terrific,” Molly lied.

  “You sure?” Her mother approached and studied Molly critically. “You’ve been staring at those candlesticks for a full minute without moving.”

  Had she?

  Molly gave herself a mental shake. “I have a lot on my plate.”

  “Yes, you do.” Her mother reached out and stroked Molly’s hair like she often had when Molly was a child. “What’s really wrong? I’ve known you your whole life. I can tell when something’s bothering you.”

  She willed herself to remain in control. It was tempting to throw herself into her mother’s arms and pour her heart out. Now wasn’t the time. The bride was due to arrive at two thirty.

  “Nothing.”

  “Honey, tell me.”

  Molly’s determination deserted her. “Owen didn’t get the job at Craft-Right.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I know he was counting on it.”

  Homer had mentioned Owen’s job opportunity during what little catching up the family had managed earlier that morning.

  “He was,” Molly concurred.

  “And you were, too. Right?”

  “How did you—”

  “Know you’re seeing each other?” Her mother pinched Molly’s cheek affectionately. “Even if I hadn’t spotted the chemistry sizzling between the two of you, your grandmother mentioned it and Bridget showed me the kiss cam video.”

  She should have figured as much.

  “You and Owen won, you know.”

  “We did?”

  Molly had been so preoccupied, she’d forgotten to check the announcement of the winner. Unable to resist, she dug her phone from her pocket and checked the website. There was the announcement, big as life.

  “I don’t think there was a doubt,” her mother said. “Maybe you and he can talk things out during the dinner.”

  Molly replaced her phone. Her first impulse was to hold back, wait for a better heart-to-heart opportunity, one where a wedding ceremony wasn’t imminent. But upon seeing her mother’s tender expression, the words spilled out, and Molly couldn’t stop them.

  “I resisted him from the start. Put up every barrier imaginable and concocted countless excuses. He won me over, Mom. I fell for him. Despite my determination not to.”

  “I understand. It was the same for me with your dad.”

  “I was starting to think we had a chance even though we’re both dealing with a lot and each have twenty irons in the fire. Then he didn’t get the job.” Molly sighed. “I’m a terrible person.”

  “No, you’re not. You just wanted to eliminate one of those irons. That’s natural.”

  “I feel like we’ve lost a lot of ground. Here we were ready to move ahead, and now we’re back to square one with me feeling like I’m interfering with his priorities.”

  “It’s true that Owen’s a package deal,” her mother said. “He comes with three big responsibilities, ages five and under.”

  “I love the children. They’re adorable.”

  “Hey, they had me at hello.” Her mother came over and squeezed Molly’s shoulder. “If you and Owen truly care for each other, you’ll find a way. You have another week before he leaves. Give yourselves a chance to talk before jumping to any decision. He may surprise you with what he has to say.”

  “There’s something else.” Molly hesitated, not wanting to voice her secret fear aloud.

  “What?”

  “I think it might be possible Owen’s glad he didn’t get the job a Craft-Right.”

  Shock registered on her mother’s face. “Why would he be glad?”

  “Maybe relieved is a better word. He made some comments the other day about not wanting to go back to sales.”

  “What kind of comments?”

  “Nothing specific. I guess it’s more a feeling I have.”

  “I recommend you not worry until you’ve had a chance to talk to him.”

  Her mother’s advice was good and worth following. Molly did have a habit of working herself into a sweat unnecessarily.

  The mantel clock chiming reminded them that duty called. Sweetheart Ranch had their biggest wedding to date to pull off. Now wasn’t the time to let personal problems that may not even be problems get in the way.

  Molly reached for the punch bowl. “Should this go here or in the middle of the table?”

  “What do you think?”

  “At the end. To avoid congestion.”

  “See?” Her mother smiled. “You’re learning.”

  “I actually haven’t disliked covering for Grandma while she and Homer were on their trip. I was convinced at first that I couldn’t manage on my own. Then I surprised myself. Yeah, I’ve made some mistakes. I’ve also done well, like with the cross-promotion brochure.”

  “I’d say Mom knew what she was doing all along, choosing you to replace her and putting your feet to the fire.”

  “Grandma told me she wants us all to go shopping the first of next week. To pick out her vow renewal dress.” The thought of the family outing cheered Molly. “She’s having me design and send out e-invitations. Can you believe that? Grandma using technology to invite people?”

  “I’m still not over her eloping. My mom, running off like a teenager.” Molly’s mother smiled wistfully. “I guess when you’re in love, you throw caution to the wind.”

  Molly thought about her grandmother and Homer. They’d been so sure, they�
�d defied convention and rushed off on a moment’s notice. How she longed to be like them. Not to run off with Owen but to date him. Her past, however, continued to whisper warnings in her ear.

  Unable to postpone any longer, Molly and her mother applied the finishing touches to the parlor before moving to the chapel. The bride and her party arrived promptly at two thirty. She was in a hurry to change into her dress, complete her hair and makeup, and get to the stables where the carriage waited, all before the groom made his appearance.

  Thank goodness Molly’s mother was there to help as the next minute the columnist and photographer arrived, along with the singer hired to perform during the service; the videographer; and the groom’s brother/best man, who pulled a trailer with the groom’s horse. While Grandma Em took charge of the magazine reps, Molly’s mom drove the bride to the stables. Molly sent the groom’s brother to the other side of the ranch, away from the stables, to park and unload the horse. She directed the singer where to set up and discussed vantage points with the videographer.

  Despite a prediction for rain by late afternoon, the weather cooperated. The sun peeked out from between drifting clouds, and the breeze remained mild. Molly crossed her fingers that Mother Nature would continue being generous with her favors until after their second wedding at five thirty.

  Molly’s mother had barely returned when the first of many vehicles drove onto the ranch, one containing the groom and his parents. Molly wasn’t prepared for a dog to be included in the group. It seemed the groom’s mother didn’t go anywhere without her poodle mix, Buster.

  Momentarily flummoxed, she decided not to make a scene in front of the magazine reps about only service animals being allowed and no pets. After all, she’d let Owen keep the kitten. Besides, the wedding would be over and everyone gone in a couple of hours. What could go wrong as long as the woman kept the dog on a leash?

  The next thing Molly knew, it was time for the wedding to start. As had been arranged, everyone stood on the veranda while the groom rode up on his horse. Then they waited for the bride to show in the carriage. Dark maroon and hunter green crepe paper streamers had been wrapped around the railings and columns, and matching pairs of paper bells hung from the top railing at three-foot intervals. All fluttered prettily in the breeze, giving the place a holiday feel perfect for a Christmas Eve wedding and adding to the festive gathering.

  Molly, her mother and grandmother huddled beside the swing, out of the way but ready to step in should the need arise. The columnist and photographer watched from their place near the gate while the videographer tracked the groom’s progress.

  Every pair of eyes was riveted on the bend in the road when the carriage came into view, accompanied by the sound of hooves and jingle bells. Molly was convinced each person held their breath in collective anticipation.

  Amos and Moses walked at a brisk but controlled pace, heads held high as if they understood the importance of their role. The bride sat in the carriage, waving and wearing a huge smile. The mild breeze continued to cooperate and lifted her veil just the right amount so that it floated elegantly behind her. The sight they made as Owen brought the carriage to a stop in front of the house was pure enchantment.

  “Whoa, boys.” He pulled on the reins.

  The bride, her beautiful features radiating joy, started to rise. Gasps of delight traveled throughout the guests. The groom stared, his goofy grin endearing.

  Molly couldn’t be happier. Everything was going exactly as planned.

  And then disaster struck.

  * * *

  BUSTER CATAPULTED FROM the arms of the groom’s mother. Hitting the veranda floor with a yelp, he bolted toward the horses, yapping frantically with his leash dragging behind him. Reaching them, he skidded to a halt and faced the giant beasts a hundred times his size, alternately barking, growling and snapping.

  Normally calm, the horses began snorting and prancing. Owen commanded them to stand. Holding the reins tight, he reached for the lever to his right. Before he could engage the hand brake, Buster dove in and bit Amos on the front right leg, growling furiously. In retaliation, Amos reared slightly, and then attempted to stomp the dog to pieces. The groom’s mother screamed. Rather than run away, Buster became incensed and lunged at Amos a second time, missing his hoof by a mere inch.

  As everyone watched in alarm and horror, Amos first bucked and then charged ahead, going from a standstill to a full gallop and dragging Moses with him. Buster was nearly crushed under the front left carriage wheel. Amid cries of alarm, Molly pushed her way through to the front of the gathering, emerging beside the groom.

  “Do something!” he hollered.

  She ran down the steps and after the carriage, though how she could help she had no clue. Thankfully, Owen brought the horses to a bumpy stop about a hundred yards ahead.

  “Grab the dog,” Molly hollered.

  Short of breath and heart pounding, she caught up with the carriage and was vastly relieved to find the bride unharmed, though obviously shaken.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, holding on to the carriage door, her voice choppy.

  “I think so,” the bride replied weakly.

  The groom reached them, equally out of breath as Molly. “My God, Valerie, are you hurt?”

  “No.” She patted her head. “Where’s my veil?”

  Molly looked around, dismayed to see it had been lost during the brief runaway and lay in the road several yards behind them. “I’ll get it for you.” On wobbly legs, she hurried to where the veil lay and picked it up, cringing when she saw dirty streaks on the formerly pristine white lace.

  Returning to the carriage, she was glad to see the bride significantly more composed. Also that the groom’s father had collected troublemaker Buster. He was safe in the arms of his owner who clutched him to her chest.

  The groom was attempting to explain what had happened, and his bride was having none of it.

  “You’re saying that stupid dog of your mother’s is the reason the horses went nuts?” Her expression twisted into one of incredulity.

  “Mom’s dog isn’t stupid. He’s protective of her.”

  Her already flushed face turned beet red. “Are you seriously taking your mother’s side over mine?”

  “Baby. I’m sorry.” He tried to climb into the carriage, but she stopped him with a raised hand.

  “No. Stay there.”

  “How ’bout I turn these boys around and we head back to the house?” Owen said over his shoulder. What he didn’t add, but Molly was sure he’d been thinking, was, before anything worse happens.

  Ultimately, the bride climbed down from the carriage and walked to the house, her dress bunched in her hands so as not to drag in the dirt. The groom trailed behind her like an errant child, desperately trying to make amends for his blunder.

  “I’m heading to the stables,” Owen said to Molly. “I’ll meet you inside.”

  “And I’ll try to restore order.”

  He grinned. “You think she’s still going to marry him after all this?”

  “Please, no jokes,” Molly begged. Nothing about what had happened was funny to her.

  As she started up the walkway to the house, a strong gust of wind came out of nowhere and whipped past them. Fortunately, the bride had a hold of her veil or she would have lost it again. The crepe paper decorations were a different matter. Several streamers and two pairs of bells were caught by the gust and spun like pinwheels across the front yard.

  “No!” the bride cried out and promptly exploded into a torrent of tears. She was immediately surrounded by supporters, but their best efforts to soothe her were useless. She couldn’t be consoled.

  Molly was at a loss. There was no way to undo what had happened. Getting angry at the groom’s mother would only make the situation worse. Perhaps the best course of action was to let the bride’s meltdown play out before
intervening.

  It was then Molly noticed both the magazine photographer and the videographer capturing every moment and she wanted to scream with frustration. How could she have forgotten about them? Just imagining the negative recounting in the magazine—who was she kidding, Sweetheart Ranch would probably be cut from the top ten list—and a video of the runaway carriage going viral online had her longing for a dark cave in which to hide.

  “Don’t cry,” the bride’s mother crooned, “you’ll ruin your makeup.”

  “I don’t care! I don’t even want to get married anymore.”

  “Baby.” The groom put an arm around her, squishing her veil. “Don’t say that.”

  She shrugged off his arm with a “Leave me alone.”

  “Buster didn’t mean to scare the horses.” The mother of the groom took a step forward.

  “Keep that mangy mutt away from me.” The bride’s laser glare sent her future mother-in-law slinking back to her former place.

  Molly squeezed her eyes shut and silently prayed for the day to be over. The next moment, her grandmother cut through to small crowd.

  “Valerie, you poor dear.” She took the bride’s arm and patted it comfortingly. “How about I take you inside and help you tidy up? You don’t want any pictures with your hair mussed and your makeup smeared.” She addressed the gathering. “I’m sorry, but the dog needs to stay outside. Someone will have to remain behind with him.”

  “But Buster doesn’t like the cold,” the mother of the groom objected.

  “I’ll bring a blanket.”

  “Thank you.” The bride gazed gratefully at Grandma Em.

  “The groom and everyone else, please follow Molly to the chapel. Valerie, maid of honor and Mom—” she pointed to each person as she spoke “—you all come with me to the bride’s dressing room. We’ve got some work to do.”

  The three women willingly accompanied Grandma Em into the house. Molly corralled the rest of the group with her mother’s help and escorted them to the chapel. The columnist and photographer came, too, as well as the videographer. Molly silently groaned with every photo snapped and each time the video camera was directed at her.