A Cowboy's Christmas Proposal

by Cathy McDavid

  Was this the end of Sweetheart Ranch, all because of a disobedient dog Molly had allowed to stay?

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  MOLLY CONSIDERED IT a Christmas Eve gift from above that the first wedding went relatively smoothly once the bride’s hair, makeup and veil were restored. The only other glitch wasn’t really a glitch at all. Because of the delayed start, the second wedding had to be pushed back. But then bride number two’s cousin was late, so the delay didn’t affect much.

  To Molly’s surprise, the columnist and photographer asked to stick around for the second wedding. She wondered if they were secretly hoping for a repeat disaster—she’d heard they were very entertained by the runaway carriage. Thankfully, wedding number two proceeded flawlessly.

  The second bride had been so thrilled at the prospect of potentially appearing in what she loudly proclaimed was her favorite wedding magazine she’d not only consented to pictures being taken, she’d personally orchestrated every one.

  Molly carried a stack of forks to the kitchen, glad that bride number two had promised to pass on her positive experience to all her friends. Molly had been too nervous to check the ranch’s social media page, though her phone had vibrated several times, alerting her to new comments or posts.

  Her mother entered the kitchen right behind Molly, bringing the last of the punch cups. She and Molly had volunteered to clean up, allowing Grandma Em to attend a candlelight church service with Homer and Bridget.

  “Did you notice Owen talking to the columnist?” Molly’s mother began rinsing dishes.

  “No, when was that?”

  “She stopped him on his way out.”

  “Hmm.” Molly’s mind instantly concocted multiple scenarios. “I thought they left during the reception.”

  She and her grandmother had seen the magazine reps off, leaving them with the best impression of Sweetheart Ranch they could. Grandma Em’s many years dealing with dissatisfied customers at the inn had come in handy.

  Even though the columnist had complimented them on their handling of the runaway carriage and distraught bride, Molly agonized over the catastrophe appearing in the article.

  “What did they talk about? I wonder,” she mused aloud.

  “The columnist asked him where he’d gotten his ceremony. I overheard them when I was taking down whatever crepe paper decorations didn’t blow away in the wind,” she added. “The columnist said she’d never heard a service like Owen’s.”

  Neither had Molly.

  “You have to admit, it was nice.”

  “It was,” she agreed.

  Owen had used the same ceremony for both weddings. Altering his usual introduction, he’d included a part about how the Egyptians were believed to be the first culture to exchange rings of love and that they also believed a vein or nerve ran directly from the ring finger to the heart. With his sexy, lopsided grin and down-home speaking style, he’d made it sound romantic.

  He’d made amazing progress since that first ceremony. He’d become polished and professional and could easily make a career of officiating weddings if he chose.

  “He was a big help with damage control after the carriage ride fiasco, don’t you think?” Molly’s mother asked.

  Molly nodded. “Lesson learned. No dogs ever again. Unless they’re part of the ceremony and stay inside.”

  Her mother’s phone rang. She went to her purse on the counter and grabbed it. “Doug needs the car,” she said, hanging up.

  Molly refrained from complaining. She may not fully understand her mother’s marriage to Doug, but she was committed to being more tolerant of him. Owen’s recent remarks were responsible for her enlightened perspective. “Go on. There’s not much left.”

  “You sure?”

  Molly could see her mother was torn. “Get some rest. We have another busy day tomorrow.”

  They hugged goodbye at the door and Molly returned to the parlor, intending to make a final pass and retrieve any missed items. She became distracted when her phone vibrated for the third time in the past few minutes. Now that she was alone, she risked checking the ranch’s social media page, bracing herself for the worst.

  Good thing she had. There at the top was a scathing post from the groom’s mother, Buster’s owner. Molly barely took note of the recent rave review from a wedding the previous weekend.

  “‘The house is gorgeous and the cake divine but skip the carriage ride,’” Molly read out loud, her blood running alternately hot and cold as her pulse pounded. “‘The horses ran off with my new daughter-in-law before the poor girl had a chance to get out of the carriage. Almost ruined the wedding.’” Unable to read any more, Molly closed the app on her phone. “You failed to mention your dog yapping his head off and biting Amos’s leg.”

  Her anger changed targets, from the groom’s mother to herself. Why hadn’t she insisted Buster not be allowed near the wedding? She’d known better. Even Grandma Em had questioned Molly’s decision.

  Grandma Em, Molly thought glumly. In an effort to prove herself capable, she’d let down someone she loved and who had depended on her.

  Worse, she’d let herself down. Molly had worked hard to help launch Sweetheart Ranch and build the family business. Just look how far they’d come in a month. Now their future might be in danger all because of one bad decision.

  Molly let herself wallow for another minute before deciding the parlor was clean enough. Returning to the kitchen, she stopped short upon seeing Owen at the counter, pouring himself a mug of leftover coffee.

  “I thought you were at the cabin,” she said. “It’s late.”

  “Nora’s with the kids.” Setting down his mug, he yanked on his coat, popping open the snaps one at a time. “I just came from checking the horses one last time. Gave them a thorough once-over in case something other than the dog caused them to spook.”

  “And?”

  “Nothing.” He shook his head. “I honestly thought those two were impossible to rile. Apparently not when it comes to being barked at by a twelve-pound dog.”

  “More than barked at. Buster bit Amos.”

  Owen laughed. “Not that you can tell. Tiny teeth apparently aren’t enough to penetrate his thick hide.”

  “Mom said you talked to the columnist before she and the photographer left.”

  “For a few minutes.” He sipped at his coffee.

  “What did she say?”

  “Not much. They’ve been to a lot of weddings and assured me they’d seen worse disasters.”

  “I can’t imagine anything worse. I dread seeing the article when it comes out.”

  He settled himself beside Molly at the counter, their arms and legs brushing. “I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it.”

  She was aware of his presence, but it didn’t slow her racing thoughts and tangled emotions like usual. “Easy for you to say. This ranch isn’t your livelihood and your entire world.”

  “But it’s yours. And because I care about you, its success matters to me.”

  “What if we fail?”

  “You won’t. Not over one incident.”

  “Just look at that restaurant chain in the news. It went under all because their CEO made an inappropriate remark caught on video.” Molly’s phone vibrated again. She didn’t dare look, afraid of what she’d read.

  “Don’t take this wrong, please, but is there any chance you’re overreacting? Nothing bad happened after Tasha and Wayne’s wedding when their son live streamed Marisa shoving her.”

  Molly’s muscles tensed. “My concerns are valid.”

  “I’m not saying they aren’t. Only that you shouldn’t drive yourself crazy with needless worry.”

  Despite her mother saying much the same to her earlier, Molly bristled.

  “Is this your way of trying to make me feel better? Because I’m feeling worse by the minute.” An
noyed, she took out her phone and checked the newest comment. “See here.” She showed him her phone. “This person writes that she was considering having her wedding here but after reading about the runaway she’s going to book her wedding at that Victorian house in Gilbert.”

  “She’s one person.”

  “One person can start an avalanche.”

  “Post a reply,” Owen suggested. “Businesses do it all the time. When I was at Waverly, we received plenty of complaints. Customers seemed to appreciate a personal response that addressed the problem.”

  “How can I do that without blaming the groom’s mother? People will hate us.”

  “Be sincere. Apologize. Say the horses were frightened by a dog but don’t mention who owned the dog.”

  “It’s not that simple, Owen.”

  “It’s not that difficult,” he countered.

  Says him. She dumped the rest of the coffee down the sink and rinsed out the pot. “I get that I can be...overzealous sometimes. Allow my emotions to get the best of me. But this is serious and, in my opinion, worth getting upset about.”

  “Take a deep breath.” He placed a hand on her arm. “Relax. Tomorrow things won’t look so terrible.”

  She stiffened at what she perceived to be a condescending tone.

  He let his hand drop. “Sorry. I’m trying, Molly.”

  Her anger marginally abated. “I wish you’d support me rather than criticize me or contradict me.”

  “I thought I was supporting you.”

  “Telling me to take a breath and relax or that I’m overreacting isn’t being supportive. It’s patronizing.”

  “I don’t see it that way but okay.”

  She’d hurt him and possibly angered him. She could tell by the way his mouth flattened to a narrow line.

  “What I need from you is sympathy and understanding. Even if you think I’m going off the deep end.”

  “I was offering advice,” he said.

  “In a way that dismisses my concerns.”

  He drained his coffee and set the mug in the sink. “You’re upset.”

  “With good cause.”

  “And you want to pick a fight.”

  Did she? Possibly. Her worry about their future on top of the wedding calamity had her nerves wound tight as a drum.

  She strived to keep her voice level. “I’m not a child, Owen. I don’t pick fights. I was expressing my concerns, talking through my problems as a means of finding solutions.”

  “Okay. I didn’t get that.”

  No, he hadn’t. Not in the least. Which caused her to wonder how little he knew her, and she him.

  Losing the battle with the doubts and concerns she’d been resisting, she blurted, “I’m not sure dating is a good idea. Every time we’ve encountered a problem, we’ve come at it from opposite sides. Your children, the kitten, the carriage runaway, the negative reviews. It’s like we’re complete opposites.”

  She expected him to disagree, only he didn’t.

  “You may be right.”

  His response threw her for a loop. Always in the past, she was the one putting on the brakes and he was the one wanting to move forward. “What changed your mind?”

  “Not getting the job at Craft-Right.”

  She mulled that over for a moment. “I understand. I do. You’ve been clear about your need to be employed and the reasons it’s important. What I don’t understand is why you threw away a perfectly good opportunity.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “I saw your face, Owen. You were relieved when Craft-Right rejected your counteroffer. I’m willing to bet that’s what you hoped for.”

  Again, he didn’t disagree with her. “Every time I thought about returning to the same old grind, my stomach turned to cement.”

  She’d been there herself and felt sorry for him. She was also angry, however, and, in her opinion, with good reason.

  “You should have told me,” she said. “Instead, you persuaded me to give us a chance even when I was reluctant, and then pulled the rug out from under me without any warning.”

  “I’m not sure I knew myself until yesterday how much I didn’t want the job and for purely selfish reasons.” He looked truly miserable and remorseful. “What kind of a dad does that make me? Putting myself first?”

  “I don’t have children, I can’t answer that. I do know you’re devoted to Cody, Marisa and Willa, and you’ll do whatever’s necessary to see they lack for nothing.”

  He met her gaze, and the sorrow and remorse in his eyes quelled her anger. “I’ve screwed up, haven’t I? Big time.”

  Somehow, she found the courage to speak what was on both their minds. “You’re not just out of a job, you’re at a career crossroads. Until you decide on a direction, we have to put our relationship on hold. We don’t have a choice. Continuing would be unfair to your children, to yourself and to me.”

  “Hold? Or is that your polite way of giving me the boot?” His sad grin broke her heart.

  “The choice is yours.”

  “I don’t think I have but one.”

  She blinked back tears. He might have done the same, she wasn’t positive.

  “Nora’s waiting on me.” He glanced at the clock. “We’re packing the kids’ stuff so they’ll be ready to leave in the morning when Jeanne arrives.”

  He turned to leave. Molly could sense his withdrawal, both emotional and physical, like heat escaping through an open window. It matched her own. She considered calling him back, but that would just make their already painful parting infinitely worse.

  “See you in the morning.” He left without looking back at her.

  The sound of the door closing echoed inside Molly’s empty chest. She sank into a kitchen chair and let her head fall into her waiting hands.

  * * *

  MOLLY STUMBLED INTO the kitchen over an hour later than usual, her eyes gritty from lack of sleep and her spirits so low she feared she’d trip over them. If not for the two small weddings that afternoon, she’d have stayed in bed all day with her head buried beneath the covers.

  “Merry Christmas,” Bridget announced. “You missed breakfast. Cinnamon French toast.”

  “Oops.” That would account for the delicious aroma lingering in the kitchen. “My alarm didn’t go off.”

  “Good thing we’re opening presents tonight after the weddings.”

  “Yeah.” Not that Molly was looking forward to it now that Owen probably wouldn’t be there.

  Too tired to see where she was going, she felt her way blindly to the refrigerator for some orange juice.

  “There’s leftover French toast in the microwave if you want,” Bridget said.

  “Thanks.” Molly gulped her juice, the sweet taste boosting her lagging energy. “Where’s Mom and Grandma? I didn’t see them.”

  “Saying goodbye to Owen’s children. Their mother will be here soon. They’re stopping at her parents’ house before driving to Lake Powell.”

  “That’s a long day for three young children. A car trip on top of a visit to their grandparents.”

  “Which is why I’m making fun snacks for them to take along. Hopefully it’ll cut down on the squabbling. You know how cranky Cody and Marisa can get when confined together in a small space.”

  Yes, Molly did. She supposed that happened after a month, getting to know a person’s habits and quirks and likes and dislikes. Owen organized the money in his wallet by denomination and listened to sports talk radio in his truck.

  “I’m going to miss them,” Molly confessed.

  “Me, too.” Bridget stopped filling small plastic sandwich bags with carrot sticks, celery sticks and pretzel sticks. “I bet you’re going to miss their dad, too.”

  “I already do.” The words slipped out before Molly could stop them.

  “Were you
able to spend any alone time together last night?”

  “A little. And all we did was disagree.”

  “No!” Bridget wiped her hands on a towel and came over to join Molly at the table where she’d taken a seat. “What about? Not him turning down the job at Craft-Right?”

  “That and other things.” Molly recounted to Bridget how she and Owen had reached a mutual agreement to call off dating. “He’s burned-out on sales. That’s the real reason he said no to Craft-Right.”

  “Huh.”

  “Translate huh for me.”

  “You’re not going to like it.” Bridget stood and retrieved a storage container holding cookie bars.

  “Tell me anyway.”

  “This is strictly my opinion.”

  “Argh!” Molly wanted to scream. “Say it already.”

  “You didn’t support him in his time of need just like you accused him of not supporting you when the groom’s mother posted a bad review on our social media page.”

  Yikes. When Bridget put it that way...

  Molly’s chest ached. She knew she could have handled the disagreement with Owen better. Even so, she stuck to her guns. “I don’t know how we can have a relationship until he figures out what the heck he wants to do with his life.”

  “Him finding a job is important,” Bridget conceded. “He has three kids to support.”

  “Right. And he should focus on that while I focus on the ranch.”

  “Have you checked our social media page this morning?”

  “No. My phone’s upstairs charging.” Truthfully, Molly lacked the courage to look.

  Bridget picked up her tablet from the counter. After a moment of scrolling, she announced, “There’s a glowing post from our second bride yesterday.” Bridget read a snippet. “Wow. Very nice. Twenty more weddings and that lousy post will be so far down the list no one will notice it.”

  Molly was less sure. When she ordered anything online, she always searched for and read the bad reviews. “Owen suggested I respond to the groom’s mother and apologize.”

  “That’s a good idea.”