The Maverick's Bridal Bargain

by Christy Jeffries

  “Thank you,” she said, this time looking as though she meant it. “Now, let me do my job.”

  Vivienne walked toward the platform of the depot, where Garrett was lying down on his belly next to the side of the track and using one open eye and an extended hand to measure something off in the distance. His dad was resting his hands on top of a shovel handle, his forehead planted on his stacked fingers as he shook his head at whatever Garrett was saying.

  “Hey there, gentlemen,” she said sweetly as they drew near. “Have you guys come up with any clever solutions so far?”

  Garrett jumped to his feet and dusted the dirt and gravel off his belly. “Well, I was thinking we could find a couple of those old mining carts and use them to ferry the guests back and forth from the parking area to the freight house.”

  A vein throbbed in Cole’s temple and he squeezed his lids shut.

  “Hmm.” Vivienne nodded, as if she was seriously contemplating his brother’s asinine suggestion. “You mean like one of those handcar things with the crank that people pump up and down to make it move?”

  “Actually, I meant one of those huge carts with the sides about so high.” Garrett gestured toward his chest. “The ones that miners used to fill up with coal and supplies and stuff. Then we could harness it to one of the horses and pull people inside, kind of like an old-fashioned buggy ride—except on the rails so they can haul butt. To be honest, though, your idea of the handcart sounds way more fun.”

  “I think they both sound fun,” Vivienne stated, and Cole rolled his eyes, ready to interject. “However, you could probably only operate one or two at a time, and at last count the guest list was pushing two hundred. That’s a lot of shuttle trips back and forth and people won’t want to wait. Would it be difficult to turn the tracks into some sort of walkway? Maybe use cement or dirt or something to pack between the two rails so that the metal part is still showing, keeping the old-fashioned charm, but making it more of an outline of a modern sidewalk?”

  His father’s face slowly lifted and Garrett’s eyes lit up. In fact, Cole’s own head tilted as he considered that possibility.

  Vivienne continued. “But all of you have already done so much work in such a short amount of time and I don’t want you to do anything to your property that you’re not comfortable with.”

  “I know I don’t want to tiptoe around these tracks and risk falling down and breaking my old neck,” Phil Dalton said. “Sounds like a good enough plan to me.”

  “But if we turn it into a sidewalk, we won’t be able to use any handcarts on the tracks. Don’t you think it’d be kinda cool to have races and stuff with them?” Garrett was enthusiastically bobbing his head up and down and Cole opened his mouth to tell his brother that he shouldn’t leave the house without a helmet.

  Fortunately, Vivienne spoke before him. “There’s still the track on the back side of the freight house. You can set up your handcarts over there. After the reception is over, obviously.”

  “Obviously,” their dad repeated, his eyes drilled in Garrett’s direction, as if to drive home the implication that there weren’t going to be any carts or any racing at any time during the wedding.

  Cole had to admit it—the woman really was brilliant at solving problems without making others feel as though she was steering them in a direction they didn’t want to go. And before he knew it, she was steering him back toward the freight house. “Let’s go plug in those lights.”

  Cole tossed a smug smile in his brother’s direction before eagerly following along.

  Chapter Five

  “Where did those come from?” Vivienne asked the oldest Dalton brother as he rolled two old-fashioned barrels on either side of him through the freight house. What was his name again? Booker? She needed a chart to keep track of all the relatives.

  “They were stacked in a storage room built behind the office. After we moved them, we found a trapdoor hidden in the floor and Lydia thinks that the former owners might’ve operated a still down there during Prohibition. The Dumpster is already full, so I’m going to load them in my truck and find somewhere to get rid of them.”

  “No, they’re perfect. Can I have them?”

  “For what?” Cole asked her. He’d already had her all flustered after that near kiss in the depot. While she worked, she didn’t need him following her around second-guessing everything she was doing.

  She was saved from responding by the sound of another car horn outside. Was that a Rust Creek Falls thing? Why did everyone who drove up have to honk their arrival?

  “Food’s here!” Charles slapped his palms together as he came out of the freight office area. “After we eat, you guys should go check out the moonshine room.”

  An idea flickered, but Rita Dalton was waving everyone outside, barking orders to her sons and nephews to help set up the tables. Vivienne would have to give this so-called moonshine room a little more thought.

  “Uncle Ben and Aunt Mary are right behind us,” the newly arrived driver said. Two more women she thought might be Rita’s daughters carried boxes advertising Buffalo Bart’s Wings-To-Go, and Vivienne found herself standing in the center of the gravel lot as Dalton after Dalton sped by her, unloading wooden benches and two picnic tables and dozens of assorted containers of what looked to be homemade side dishes.

  It felt odd not to be the one giving direction as the whirlwind of activity happened around her. She was used to crowds at other weddings or parties, but this was different. It was all one family. And they were huge. And overwhelming. And loud. But in a good way.

  She startled when Cole’s hand touched her lower back. He leaned to whisper, “You better get in line before all the chicken is gone.”

  Vivienne’s stomach rumbled. She had a healthy appetite and could put away a fair amount of food. But looking at the heaping platters and salad-filled bowls, she calculated that it would take even this brood at least three days to consume all of it.

  “C’mon, Vivienne,” Rita called, holding out a paper plate.

  Feeling everyone’s eyes on her, Vivienne carefully scooped out small amounts of potato salad, coleslaw, green beans and sliced watermelon. The chicken looked incredible, but she limited herself to three boneless strips. Then she saw the pan of corn bread and her tummy told her that she would feel so much more at ease if she topped off her plate with a hunk the size of her fist. By the time she got to the end of the table, all the other women had filed in behind her, following her lead.

  She took her food toward one of the benches set up under the shade of the aspen trees, balancing her full plate on her knees, since many of the guys were lounging around the other picnic table waiting for their turn in line. Rita and Lydia came next, and the rest of the ladies joined them on nearby benches. Cole and Booker were the last ones to get their food and most of the seats were taken by that point, with some of the men standing up to eat.

  There was about a foot of space left next to her, and Booker made his way toward it, as though he intended to squeeze in beside her. But right before he could sit down, Cole appeared with his elbows outstretched and rammed his body between Vivienne and Booker, causing his brother to drop his plate as Cole slammed himself onto the bench hard enough to jostle the opposite end.

  “Darn it, Cole,” Rita said, recovering from the bounce and wiping her mouth on a paper napkin. “This isn’t a teeter-totter.”

  Cole was pressed up so close against Vivienne’s arm that her own paper plate was in danger of folding in on itself. But instead of an apology, he looked smugly at his big brother while the rest of the Dalton men hooted and laughed.

  “Gotta be quicker than that, Booker,” Garrett catcalled.

  “Hey, Lydia,” Zach, who was standing with the other men, hollered to his fiancé. “Why don’t we play musical chairs at the reception? If we put our money on Cole, we could probably win enough bets to pay for the whole wedding
.”

  “Nah,” Shawn Dalton said. “Cole’ll only compete if there’s a pretty wedding planner in the open seat.”

  Heat flooded Vivienne’s face and Cole threw a buttermilk biscuit at Shawn, who was too busy doubling over with laughter to duck.

  “You boys mind your manners,” Rita said in a firm, authoritative voice. Then she turned to Vivienne as the guffaws were smothered into mere snickers and smirks. “Honey, don’t pay them any mind.”

  Cole’s shoulder remained pressed against hers, and each time he took a bite, she felt his movement. There was no way he could be comfortable sitting so close to her on such a small area of wood. But the man didn’t budge. It was almost as if he needed to prove to his relatives that he wasn’t the least bit affected by their teasing. Or maybe he truly wasn’t bothered by it. Which meant Vivienne shouldn’t be bothered by the comments, either, especially the one about him wanting the seat by the wedding planner.

  Surely, the only reason he was sitting here was because it was the last spot left, and he’d been working long before everyone else got there, so he was probably exhausted. Or perhaps he was only sitting here because he had an inherent need to compete and beat one of his brothers out of something. That had to be it. With his straight spine and cocky expression, Cole resembled a bridesmaid who’d just beat out every other single woman trying to catch the bride’s bouquet.

  Which reminded Vivienne to get back to business. “Lydia, did your maid of honor pick up her dress yet?”

  “Yes, and Joanna says hers fits perfectly,” Lydia said, referring to her childhood friend. “Jolene tried hers on at the Gazette office and has been talking about matching accessories at work nonstop. And Eva dropped hers off with the tailor yesterday.”

  Vivienne clenched her jaw at the mention of Eva-Rose Armstrong’s name but tried not to show her concern. Most brides didn’t ask one of their groom’s prior dates to be part of the wedding party, and Vivienne could only hope that Lydia was right and that the woman Zach once went out with had happily moved on with the new man in her life.

  “How are you going to wear your hair, dear?” Aunt Mary asked Lydia, who gave a helpless shrug.

  “I don’t know. What do you think, Vivienne?”

  Out of all the women here, most of them their own age, Lydia had asked her. Pride blossomed in Vivienne’s chest, knowing it was the ultimate vote of confidence when a bride valued her opinion. Sitting up straighter, she accidentally rammed her elbow into Cole’s steely bicep. He didn’t even flinch.

  “It depends on how formal you want to look,” Vivienne said, knowing that Lydia rarely wore makeup and preferred to keep her brown curls loose and casual.

  “I want it to look natural, but I also want it to be special.”

  “Well, I have mobile beauticians and makeup artists on speed dial if you want to go that route. Or we can keep business local and use Bee’s Beauty Parlor in town. In either event, we should probably pull up some styles that you’d prefer and ask around.” Vivienne tapped her chin before continuing on. “Actually, I was kind of toying with the idea of a little theme and I think it would work well with your dress.”

  Lydia’s face brightened. “I love a theme. What is it?”

  “Well, you guys found what might’ve been an old still and with the hundred-year-old train depot and your work at the newspaper, we could do sort of a Prohibition era 1920s revival thing. I’m not thinking of a full-on speakeasy and flappers doing the Charleston. But maybe some subtle touches to complement the property’s history.”

  “It’s like you know exactly what I want before I could possibly even think of it,” Lydia gushed, making Vivienne’s chest fill with satisfaction.

  But the satisfaction was short-lived as everyone else began chiming in with their own ideas. Some of them were good; however, some of them had Lydia crinkling her nose.

  One of the female Dalton cousins clapped her hands. “Ooh, we could dress the ring bearers up like little newsies with tweed derby hats. They could pass out programs and yell, ‘Extra, extra, read all about it.’ How adorable would that be?”

  “What about the groomsmen?” Garrett asked, his eyes bright and energized. “Can we get zoot suits and tommy guns?”

  Vivienne tried to tamp down the panic wedging in her throat. She should’ve waited to talk to Lydia and Zach alone about a decision this size. Once again, it was time to rein things in.

  Leaning forward to look around Cole, who was still squished up beside her and shoveling food into his mouth, Vivienne asked Zach, “Didn’t you already decide what color tuxes you wanted? If you’re using that rental company I suggested, we’re going to need to get everyone fitted as soon as possible.”

  “Whoa.” Shawn held up his plastic fork like a stop sign. “I’m not wearing a tux.”

  Cole’s upper arm brushed against hers as he swiveled in his seat and planted both boots on either side of the edge of the bench to face his brother. “Who says you even get to be in the wedding?”

  “I say,” Shawn replied. “As long as I don’t have to put on a monkey suit or slow dance with any of the bridesmaids.”

  “Yeah, entertaining the ladies isn’t exactly in your wheelhouse, Shawn. I believe that’s my specialty.” Garrett might’ve been the one speaking, but the wall of Cole’s back pressed up against her side prevented Vivienne from seeing much of the playful banter going on in that direction. “In fact, that’s why Zach wants me to be the best man.”

  “I do?” Zach asked.

  Vivienne’s pulse sped up and she turned questioning eyes toward Lydia. Please say you’ve already decided this. But the woman looked as clueless as Vivienne felt.

  “I doubt it, Garrett,” Cole argued. “You’re the most likely to lose the ring.”

  Shawn laughed. “That’s right. Dad, remember when Garrett forgot me at the county fair that one year? You put him in charge of buying me a corn dog, but then he ditched me to go on the Scream Xtreme with Rondalee... What’s her name? You know, the girl who had the big—” Shawn cupped his hands to his chest and Phil interrupted him with a severe shake of his head. “I was going to say tomatoes, Dad. She won the blue ribbon in gardening that year.”

  “I didn’t lose you,” Garrett defended. “You wandered off and Cole found you in one of the 4-H pens trying to feed cotton candy to the goats.”

  “That’s right.” Cole stood up abruptly and Vivienne almost toppled over. “I was the one who found you. And then I called the vet for those poor goats. Lydia, trust me, you don’t want these two ensuring things go right on your big day.”

  “If you ask me, it’s simple.” Booker looked up from the table where he was getting a third helping of food—well, only a second helping if one didn’t count the plate Cole had made him drop. “I’m the oldest, so I get to be the best man.”

  Vivienne saw the muscles in Cole’s chest expand as he drew in a gulp of air. He exhaled on a sigh. “Zach, do you recall Booker’s valedictorian speech in high school? We spent years trying to get the teachers to forget we were related to him. Would you really want him giving the best man toast?”

  Zach’s only response was to laugh. Phil Dalton hitched up his belt and said, “Well, sons, there’s only one way to settle this.”

  Someone whooped and one of the cousins produced a bucket of metal horseshoes. Vivienne leaned toward Rita to ask, “What are they doing?”

  “They’re going to play a game of horseshoes to decide.” The older woman shook her head. “Just be glad they haven’t moved any of the steers or horses out here yet. The last thing this wedding needs is someone showing up with a broken leg after a bronc-riding contest.”

  When someone hammered a metal stake into the ground, Lydia stood up and Vivienne asked, “Is this really happening?”

  Lydia smiled. “Welcome to Rust Creek Falls.”

  “Let me go grab my tape measure,” Cole said when
Zach tried to count out the distance between the two stakes. Garrett had upended one of the wooden benches to use as a backstop, before his aunt Mary told him to put it back and find a scrap of wood somewhere else.

  When Cole returned, he had his tool belt slung over one shoulder and Vivienne’s tote bag in his hand. “Your purse was ringing in the freight house, so I thought you might need it.”

  She looked at the missed-call log and saw Estelle’s name listed several times. And, apparently, so had Cole, who was still standing right next to her. She offered him a weak smile and said, “It’s no big deal. I can call her back.”

  Cole gave her a terse nod before joining his brothers. She was glad one of the Dalton cousins outlined the rules, because Vivienne had no idea how the game was played. Lydia reminded everyone that they still had a building they needed to get ready for a wedding, so it was decided they’d do only one round with two pitches each. The brother with the best score would win.

  Setting her tote bag on the abandoned bench, Vivienne joined the rest of the spectators at the makeshift horseshoe pit. She watched intently as each Dalton took his turn, with Phil and Charles measuring who came closest.

  She found herself holding her breath when Cole opted to pitch last. His first horseshoe easily spun around the stake and his second landed less than an inch away. Excitement bubbled through her when Zach announced that Cole was the winner and she was surprised to realize that she’d been secretly rooting for him all along.

  Instead of pumping his fist in the air or making macho whooping sounds like other guys might do when they won, the newly designated best man simply spun on his boot and looked directly at her. She finally recognized the look that had been on his face earlier when he’d beaten his older brother to the spot on the bench.

  It was triumph.

  “We want a rematch!” Booker and Garrett shouted at the same time.

  Shawn took a more subtle approach by directing his appeal toward Lydia. “I hope you know you’re making a big mistake by reinforcing Sergeant Save-the-Day’s ego.”