The Maverick's Bridal Bargain

by Christy Jeffries

  “Where’s Zach?” she asked, rubbing the top of her head as she searched the gravel lot for more trucks. “He’s not supposed to see Lydia before the wedding.”

  “He’s riding here with Booker and Shawn. I was already set to go and didn’t want to wait for them. What can I do to help?”

  Vivienne’s throat constricted and her palms went damp at the vision of Cole Dalton in his tailored outfit. There’d been a heated discussion regarding the men wearing jeans and matching vests versus tuxedos, but in the end, Vivienne was glad they’d gone with the less formal dove-gray suits. Zach had a penchant for bolo ties, and the cowboy boots were obviously a given. Vivienne had even helped select matching felt Stetsons in a soft shade of granite as groomsmen gifts.

  But none of them would look half as good today as Cole did.

  She swallowed, then shook her head. “You can’t help. I don’t want you messing up your fancy duds.”

  “I don’t think carrying some clothes is going to dirty me up,” he said, brushing by her to reach inside for the covered gown. “You know, I recently learned that the dress needs to hang outside of the garment bag so it doesn’t lose its shape before the bride wears it.”

  She looked around in alarm. “Did you tell your family about where you attained this newfound knowledge?”

  “Nope. And I don’t plan to.” He winked, cradling the bridal gown in his arms as he walked toward the repurposed railcar.

  It was a good thing, too, because if he’d looked at her a moment longer, he would’ve seen her suck in her cheeks in frustration. No matter how many blatant winks he risked sending her way, Cole had no intention of telling his relatives that he’d spent the weekend with Vivienne. Which meant that their relationship, for the short forty-eight hours that it had lasted, was a secret.

  Thank goodness the world wasn’t about to stop and allow her to dwell on it. The hairdresser and makeup artist pulled into the parking area, and from that point forward, Vivienne was in constant motion.

  Several more Daltons arrived, and then she had to get Zach into the freight house so that he wouldn’t see Lydia. The bartender asked her for a cart to transport bottles of liquor from his truck to the makeshift bar she’d created using the abandoned barrels and some planks of wood. It turned out Uncle Charles had an old wheelbarrow in the back of his truck and Vivienne grabbed some flowers and a hand-lettered sign to incorporate the thing into part of the decorations.

  The photographer needed the groom and groomsmen for pictures. The band needed to know where to set up. The minister needed to know who had the marriage certificate.

  Buttons broke, missing tea lights were located and last-minute seating arrangements were swapped. Lydia’s mother, Rhoda, who was walking her daughter down the aisle to give her away, had forgotten her dress shoes at home and someone had to be dispatched to pick those up.

  By the time the first guests began to arrive, Vivienne had already changed from her work clothes into a nondescript dress that would help her blend in with the background. It was her standard operating procedure.

  However, every time she saw Cole greet another relative or escort someone to their seat, she was reminded that she would remain in the background. Which had always been okay with her, she thought as she watched Lydia walk down the aisle toward Zach.

  Until now.

  * * *

  Cole stuck to his father like glue leading up to the ceremony and immediately afterward, when it was time to pose for all the family photos. That was when Cole, his dad and—he assumed—the rest of his brothers felt his mother’s absence the most. No matter how the photographer staged them, there always seemed to be a void where his mother should’ve been.

  While Phil Dalton was happy for his son, as they all were, Cole was probably the only one who noticed how quiet his dad was being. The only one who recognized the lost look in the older man’s eyes, as if he wasn’t quite sure where to stand or who to talk to next. And when his father didn’t look confused, he looked deep in thought, staring off in the distance. There wasn’t sadness, exactly, like there had been at his mom’s funeral. Yet it didn’t feel right to leave his dad on his own so that Cole could take off and celebrate the night away with the other guests.

  Vivienne’s prior comments about wedding days being fairy tales swirled together with his own painful reminders that love didn’t always last. Not everybody got their happily-ever-after.

  Sitting at the head table beside his father, he watched Zach and Lydia dance to their first song together. If anyone deserved forever, it was the two of them. Still, that kind of unconditional love wasn’t a risk Cole was willing to take for himself.

  And just like that, his thoughts of risk had him seeking out Vivienne for the millionth time today. In fact, her whereabouts were never really far from his mind. She hovered near the cake table, speaking with one of the hired servers and arranging the heirloom serving knife set Aunt Mary had insisted they use.

  Since Lydia’s father hadn’t been in her life since she was five years old, Cole’s sister-in-law had only one parent there as well, which meant that Mrs. Grant was happy to forgo the traditional father-daughter and mother-son dances. The cutting of the cake was the next item on the agenda. Cole’s best man toast would follow, and after that the dancing would commence.

  Thirty minutes later, someone clinked a glass and others joined in. The band’s lead singer handed Cole a microphone, but his skin felt clammy, his heart felt heavy. It would’ve been too emotional to say what he was really feeling, so in the end, Cole did what he always did and tried to make light with his toast.

  Afterward, he realized that going out of his way to pretend that everything was normal—to pretend that he was not the serious, responsible brother—took more out of him than just accepting his mantle of constant dependability. Cole wished he could really be that carefree, that he could just sit back and enjoy the evening, but his nerves remained on edge.

  He would’ve begged Zach to refrain from the traditional garter toss, but Cole knew that begging in the Dalton family signaled a weakness to be mercilessly teased and exploited. And in Rust Creek Falls, home of the infamous wedding punch incident and The Great Roundup reality show, determining who was going to get married next was becoming a spectator sport. So when all the single women gathered on the dance floor behind Lydia, Cole knew that was his cue to go outside and get some fresh air.

  The June evening was brisk, helping relieve some of the stuffiness of the formal suit Cole had been forced to endure. He was leaning against the east side wall of the freight house, out of sight from the caterers running back and forth between the bigger building and the smaller train depot. Which was why he was surprised to see Vivienne turn the corner.

  “Did they send you to round up all the bachelors for the next event?” he asked. Her head tilted in confusion, so he explained. “The garter toss. Are you looking for willing victims?”

  “Victims? Oh, I get it. No, actually, that’s a tradition I could do without.”

  “Really? I’d think that’d be a target-rich environment for you to book more clients.”

  Vivienne let out a deep breath, stretching her arms behind her back. “As you’ve probably figured out, that’s one area of my job that could use some improvement.”

  “Well, you certainly excel at everything else,” he said, unable to look away from the way her stretch caused her breasts to jut forward. She dropped her arms and made a snort. “No, seriously. Don’t roll your eyes. This wedding was amazing, and Lydia and Zach are so happy. I even heard a few of my cousins’ friends talking about getting some tips from you.”

  “Trust me, if every job could be like this, this would be the ideal career for me.”

  “But...?” he prompted.

  “But back in business school, nobody told me that the practical side of making money was a lot tougher than the theoretical side. I mean, deep down,
I know that in order to be a successful wedding planner, I need to land the big clients, charge the bigger fees and direct them to the biggest vendors so that I can get more referrals, thereby starting the cycle all over again. I just didn’t realize I’d have to be a saleswoman to do so. When a bride comes in wanting a simple garden wedding with only twenty guests, Estelle expects me to convince the woman that what she really wants is four hundred of her closest friends eating caviar and listening to a twelve-piece orchestra at the luxurious Thunder Canyon Resort.”

  Her honesty was refreshing. Not that he hadn’t already seen the type of woman she was when she’d had plenty of opportunities to look out for her own interests. “Well, I think what you gave Zach and Lydia tonight was better than anything Estelle or Rich LaRue could’ve done.”

  His fingertips stroked along her temple, but before he could lean down and kiss her, her phone, which was clipped to the sash of yet another sexy wraparound dress, pinged.

  “That’s the bartender.” Vivienne stood at attention, as if she was ready to conquer the next battle. “We’re running low on ice.”

  “You stay here and take a breather. I’ll go get the ice.”

  “You’re a guest. This is my job.”

  “Vivienne, you’ve been going nonstop since when? Ten? Eleven?”

  “More like eight,” she mumbled.

  “See? You need a break. Hide out here and relax for a few more minutes.” The music cued up, so Cole knew he was now at least safe from accidentally catching a garter or a bouquet. “Besides, it’ll give me an excuse to miss the chicken dance.”

  He left her with a smile, knowing full well that she wasn’t about to stay there lounging about. And he’d been right. By the time he’d delivered the ice and returned to his father’s side, Vivienne was helping the waitstaff clear empty glasses and bottles from the abandoned tables. All the people his age were on the dance floor, but Cole didn’t feel like kicking up his heels.

  He was just ready for this night to be over. He was ready to have Vivienne all to himself again. Cole squeezed his eyelids tightly, squelching the thought that had come out of nowhere. Vivienne wasn’t really his, and he knew that. But she had a way of taking his mind off things, and he was simply wishing himself to be anywhere but here.

  Everyone finally gathered outside for the big send-off, and when Zach and Lydia pulled away in the rumble seat of the 1930s roadster driven by one of their old friends from Hardin, Cole anxiously turned to his father. “You ready to take off?”

  “Truth be told, I’m exhausted. But this is our property now.” His father paused, letting the significance of his words sink in. “We’re the hosts, so we can’t go until everyone else is gone.”

  “Look, Dad. People are already starting to leave. Booker and Shawn can stay to close up,” Cole suggested. “Hell, even Garrett can shut things down, if he ever puts down his beer and gets off that railcar Vivienne set up out back.”

  “Speaking of Vivienne, I should probably find her and thank her for doing such a good job on everything. She made it real fancy, but it also felt simple and down-home. Not too showy. I only wish your—” Phil’s voice cracked, then he sniffed and carried on. “It’s too bad your mama couldn’t have been here to see how perfectly it all came together. She always did love a wedding.”

  As his father turned to head back toward the freight house, Cole’s boots remained rooted to the grass near the gravel parking area. The guilt he’d been holding back all evening raced through him, and he looked up to the darkening sky, which was still streaked in a haze of orange and pink from the late-setting sun. His fist clenched as he crossed his arms in front of his chest, and his throat clogged when he whispered, “Sorry you couldn’t be here, Mama. Sorry for letting you down.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “I’m gonna catch a ride back to the ranch with your aunt and uncle,” Cole’s father told him when he finally made his way back to the freight house. They were coming outside as Cole was walking inside, Uncle Charles yawning and Aunt Rita carrying one of the centerpieces. Most of the guests were already gone and the tables had been cleared of dishes. “I couldn’t find that pretty wedding planner, but I know she’s still hopping around here somewhere. That gal’s got energy to spare and she’s too quick for me.”

  Cole waved off his old man. “Get on home, Dad. I’ll find Vivienne and thank her for us.”

  “You do that.” His dad squeezed his shoulder. Was it his imagination, or was there a little twinkle in Phil Dalton’s tired eyes?

  Cole was a cowboy, a former Marine. He was used to being on his feet all day. But his dressy ostrich boots were still relatively new and had been pinching him all night. Still, that didn’t stop him from helping the band haul their equipment outside or carrying the last load of stainless-steel trays to the caterer’s van.

  “Cole, you don’t have to help,” Vivienne said as she folded the last tablecloth. “I told you I’d lock up when everyone left.”

  “I know.” He shrugged, not having the emotional energy to argue. Instead, he asked, “What are we doing with all the tables and chairs?”

  “The rental people are coming tomorrow morning to get those, so just leave them where they are.”

  By the time he clicked the padlock into place on the sliding doors of the freight house, the only two cars remaining in the gravel lot were his truck and Vivienne’s Jetta. She was standing on the platform in front of the train depot, a cardboard box in one arm and her trusty tote bag hooked on the other.

  He met her at the steps. “These country roads get pretty dark at night. Why don’t I drive you back to Kalispell?”

  “Cole, I’d tell you that I’m more than capable of driving on a two-lane highway and there’s no need for you to go out of your way like that, but then you’d insist. I’d say that I don’t want to leave my car here for someone to see and then you’d counter that you could leave your truck here instead. To be honest, I’m way too exhausted to go through all that arguing.”

  “Good, give me your keys.”

  “Then how will you get back?”

  He looked over at his truck. Did it really matter how he got back? He was well aware that driving Vivienne home was just an excuse to spend more time together. But, like her, he was too tired to rationalize it. He just wanted to be with her. “I’ll follow you, then. Make sure you get home safely.”

  The drive took almost thirty minutes and all that time alone in the dark cab of his truck gave him too much time to think. To feel. To let his emotions get the better of him. So when he met her in the parking lot of her apartment complex, he was filled with a raging need and a determination that he’d never experienced before. She hadn’t even gotten her purse out of the back seat when he spun her to him, pressed her back against her car and planted his lips on hers.

  With all the emotion throbbing through him today, the kiss consumed him, filling him with more passion than anything he’d ever experienced. Nothing mattered but sinking into her embrace, into her depths. He didn’t care about anything but the fact that her mouth was welcoming him eagerly and that she was clinging to him with equal desperation.

  If someone had asked him what was going through his mind, he couldn’t even put into words what this sensation was and he definitely wasn’t ready to describe it, let alone think it. All he knew was that being with Vivienne at this exact second felt right. It felt perfect.

  * * *

  Vivienne had been well aware that Cole was just doing his hero thing, offering to follow her home. Yet something about the way they’d come together last night had been different, more intense than it had been when they’d first made love. As she stretched out on her bed beside him the following morning, she was careful to not wake him up. She was also careful to not let her thoughts stray too far. After attending a successful wedding, it was easy for people to slip into the kind of romantic afterglow that made them thi
nk their hearts were ready to conquer the world.

  Not that Cole had been waxing poetic. In fact, she’d noticed how stoic he’d been throughout the ceremony and how he’d purposely avoided most of the customary wedding festivities. And neither one of them had been doing much talking after he kissed her in the parking lot, so it should’ve been easy to replay in her mind his previous jokes about matrimony.

  The problem was, as much as she’d given up on marriage lately, Vivienne hadn’t given up on falling in love. Maybe it was just the aftereffects of witnessing such a beautifully poignant ceremony and successful reception last night, but she had a pretty good idea that what she was currently feeling for Cole would cause the self-professed eternal bachelor to run for the hills.

  She blew out her breath in frustration, dislodging a loose curl on her forehead. How could she have let herself get so caught up? She was smarter than this.

  Cole groaned beside her, keeping his eyes shut as he flexed his arm and pulled her closer. His warm body surrounded her and erased every rational argument she’d just outlined in her head.

  Lord Nibbles’s exercise wheel squeaked to life from the living room, where Vivienne had moved his cage after the first night she had him and realized that he was a nocturnal animal. She looked at the watch she’d been in too much of a hurry to take off last night.

  Hmm—6:08 a.m. It was unusual for him to be up at this time. It was also unusual for him to use the noisy exercise wheel. He’d done the same thing last week when she’d left him overnight to go to Billings.

  Did guinea pigs hold grudges?

  She slipped out of bed and padded across the cheap, thin carpet of her apartment to give him some attention. But the prim and proper chap ignored her finger extending into the unhinged door, his little wiggly nose lifted into the air. Vivienne went to the cupboard and pulled out a Nutter Butter cookie. There was no way he’d ignore that.