The Cowboy Takes a Bride (21 page)

Destiny had taken note of her eagerness to get involved. “Would you like to earn a little spending money?” Destiny asked her.

Mariah felt like she’d been offered the keys to heaven. She became Destiny’s gofer. It turned out she had not only a passion for wedding planning, but a flair as well, and since she’d grown up in households of the rich, she knew how to blend into the background, how to hold her temper and her tongue, how to seemingly do what she was told, but still manage to convince people to do what she wanted.

Destiny took note of her skills, used them to her advantage. She took Mariah under her wing, mentored her in the wedding planning business. When Mariah graduated high school, Destiny told her she’d put her through college if she’d continue to work for her. Destiny was the face of Elegant Weddings, but Mariah became the engine.

And then had come Mariah’s ultimate downfall.

“Honey?” Clover asked, coming to put a hand on Mariah’s shoulder. “Are you all right?”

Mariah shrugged, forced a smile. “Just homesick.”

Clover looked suddenly sad.

“What is it?”

“Just thinking about Dutch and how disappointing it is that you two never reconciled. Family is important.”

Mariah swallowed, looked away, and changed the subject. “What else do you need for me to do?”

Clover said nothing. Mariah glanced up and saw a deep sadness reflected in her eyes. But Clover quickly shook her head and put a smile on her face. “Help me hang the decorations.”

They decorated the back room of the nightclub with paper streamers, trying to make it look as festive as possible. Mariah put her judgment aside and went at the task with the fervor she’d always thrown into planning any wedding. By the time the guests arrived, the place had been transformed. While it might not be a ballroom at the Four Seasons, apparently it suited this bride and groom, who marveled slack-jawed when they came into the room.

“Wow,” exclaimed the bride, who was clearly six months’ pregnant, her low-cut, skin-tight wedding dress pulled snugly over her extended belly and revealing far more cleavage than Mariah wanted to see. She curled her fingers around her new husband’s forearm. “Don’t it look pretty, Junior?”

“Nothing looks as pretty as you,” Junior said, his eyes glued on his bride.

A Lynyrd Skynyrd cover band took the stage and refrains of “Gimme Three Steps” had the guests, the majority of whom were dressed in jeans, boots, and cowboy hats, hopping and jumping. The crowd hooted as the groom spun the bride around the dance floor.

Then everyone shouted the three-step chorus, clapping hands raised in the air over their heads, creating a mosh pit atmosphere.

Mariah had to admit that it was one of the liveliest wedding receptions she’d ever been to and the married couple’s joie de vivre was infectious. Hmm, how come it was that the more elegant the wedding, the more staid the reception?

The night melted into a mad mosaic of food, drink, and song. She was so busy, she didn’t even recognize Prissy Purdue as she bused tables until Prissy said, “Howdy!”

No one could mistake Prissy’s ebullient greeting.

“Oh, hello.” Mariah smiled at the redhead. Today her hair was done up in a flattering French twist.

Prissy looked puzzled. “You’re working for Clover?”

“I am.”

“But you’re a wedding planner.”

“Not a lot of job opportunities for unemployed wedding planners in Jubilee. People here seem to go for freestyle weddings.” Mariah waved her hand at the room. “Looks like waiting tables at a wedding reception is as close as I’m going to get.”

“Can I talk to you in private,” Prissy hollered over the noise of “Sweet Home Alabama.”

Mariah glanced around at the maddening throng. “I can spare a couple of minutes. Let’s duck outside.”

They slipped out the exit door. The temperature was cool but not cold, and there was no wind. A fat yellow harvest moon sat just above the horizon. The smell of pumpkins from the pumpkin patch across the highway scented the night. Mariah breathed it in. A welcoming contrast to Chicago in mid-October.

“What’s up?” Mariah asked.

Prissy folded her arms around her, lifted her chin in the direction of the room they’d just left. “I don’t want my wedding to be like that.”

“Like what?”

“Tacky. Redneck.” Prissy shook her head. “But our budget is so small I’m afraid that’s exactly what’s going to happen. Besides, my mama says my taste is all in my mouth.”

“What are you asking of me?”

Prissy brought her hands up, pressed her palms together like a prayer. “Paul’s got some wealthy relatives from Chicago and I don’t want to be shamed in front of them. Since you did fancy weddings in Chicago . . . could you please help us have a special wedding? Affordable but still classy?”

Here was someone asking her to ply the trade she loved. Hope lifted her heart.

“Keep in mind we can’t pay much,” Prissy said.

She could do it for free. Help Prissy out and at the same time, get her reputation. Why not launch a wedding planning business right here in Jubilee?

With what? She was broker than broke. And even if she could do that, it would mean getting stuck in Jubilee forever, and while she liked most of the people she’d met here, this just wasn’t her kind of place. She’d never get back to the city where she belonged.

Once upon a time, before Destiny had raked her over the coals, she’d wanted so badly to believe that love and marriage could last. But the stars had been permanently wiped from her eyes.

Most of the time when people were talking about love, they meant infatuation. Real love came from sticking with your partner through thick and thin—the bad times, the illnesses, the babies, the in-laws, the money trouble. The rest was all smoke and mirrors, and she’d been damn good at her job providing that smoke and those mirrors. She didn’t know if she wanted to keep perpetuating the myth, but the truth was, she didn’t know how to do anything else, or who she would be if she stopped doing those things.

“Please,” Prissy begged. “I don’t want to end up with pull-tab boutonnieres and beer koozies as party favors. Help!”

“Sure, I’ll help any way I can.” In the back of Mariah’s mind, a germ of an idea began to form.

Chapter Twelve

Bloom where you’re planted and if you can’t do that, plant where you bloom.

—Dutch Callahan

J
oe fought to keep from thinking about Mariah. Too much was at stake to be distracted by a pretty face and a fabulous set of lips. This was Miracle’s chance to take the Fort Worth Futurity. To win the golden prize that belonged to Dutch. Success required Joe’s full attention.

But he couldn’t seem to go two minutes without thinking about her. Thought. Obsessed. Yearned. It bothered him, this inability to concentrate. The last time he’d felt so overcome had been . . . well . . . when he’d fallen in love with Becca.

Joe gritted his teeth. He wasn’t falling in love with her. He liked her. Admired her. Enjoyed looking at her. And he certainly enjoyed kissing her. Wanted to make love to her so badly it made him hurt.

But that was it. Nothing more. No matter then that she’d been heating up his dreams, twisting his nights with hot longing. He would not allow emotion to derail him from his goal. When Miracle won the futurity, he was going to take the winnings, buy his land back from Mariah, and build that equine facility for disadvantaged kids and call it the Dutch Callahan Center. Mariah might not care about her father’s legacy, but Joe sure did.

Ignoring the visceral tug that made him want to go to the Silver Horseshoe as an excuse to see Mariah, he worked extra hard, putting Miracle through his paces. The horse, who lived for cutting cattle, rose to exceed Joe’s expectation.

Then one evening, when he just had to see her or go mad but didn’t want her to know it, he finally drove to the Silver Horseshoe.

“Haven’t seen you around in a while,” Clover said. “Something you want to talk about?”

“Not really.”

“Her name wouldn’t be Mariah Callahan would it?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Doesn’t take a rocket scientist. It’s written all over your face. You’ve got it bad, boy.”

Joe snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Clover just arched an eyebrow.

“Is she here?”

“Actually, no, she took off early.”

“Oh.” Joe stared into his full beer, felt stupid as hell.

“You look like you have something to say.”

“I don’t.”

Someone put Bonnie Raitt on the jukebox. She was singing “Thing Called Love.” Clover stared at him.

“What?”

“I never took you for a coward, Joe Daniels,” Clover said.

Joe scowled. “I’m not a coward.”

“You’re running away from Mariah.”

“I’m not running away,” he denied. “I’m just . . .” Ah hell, he was running away and everyone could see it but him.

Clover sank her hands on her hips. “You’re scared.”

“I wouldn’t call it scared.”

“Chickenshit a better term?”

Joe laughed. “Don’t hold back on my account, Clover.”

“You know, if Becca was here she’d kick your ass for not moving on. Becca might have had her faults, but she wasn’t one to hold on to the past. She’s gone, Joe, and she’s never coming back. That part of your life is over.”

“I know,” he admitted.

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I don’t ever want to hurt like that again.”

“Aw, poor baby. He got one helluva bruise and now he never wants to ride another horse again.”

“It’s not the same and you know it.”

“Isn’t it? So you had your heart broken. Any of us that have been around for any length of time have had our hearts broken. That’s life. That’s all it is. Loving, getting hurt, but daring to love again, even though you know you’re probably going to get hurt again. That’s the triumph of the human spirit. The infinite capacity to love.”

“That’s quite a speech.”

“Thank you. Now get over yourself.”

“Oh yeah, just like you moved on after Carl died.”

Pain flashed in Clover’s eyes but she quickly shut it down. “That’s how come I’m entitled to give you this advice. No one ever took me aside and told me what I needed to hear. That my life wasn’t over at fifty-five just because my man up and died on me. I loved Carl with every breath in my body, loved him since I was sixteen years old, but I couldn’t put my grief aside. I couldn’t see that there was still love for me if I only had the courage to reach out and take it.”

“You could have found a new love and that person could have died too.”

“Joe, none of us are getting out this world unscathed. You’re only thirty years old. Are you telling me you’re not ready to try again? To love again?”

Was he ready? He lusted after Mariah. He couldn’t deny that. And he respected her. She was something else indeed. But part of him felt that she was out of his league. That she was going to open her eyes one day and realize she didn’t want to be in Jubilee. That she missed the big city and then she would be gone, taking his heart with her. Nah, much better to never go there in the first place.

“It’s not that simple,” Joe said. “Mariah and I, we’re nothing alike. Have nothing in common.”

“No, you’re making it harder than it has to be.”

“What are you saying?”

“If you want someone to challenge you, keep you on your toes, then marry someone who’s not like you are. It’s too easy to get complacent when you’re too much alike.”

“So you advocate fighting in a relationship?”

“Of course I do. It clears the air. And the makeup sex—”

“Don’t need details about that.”

Clover smiled. “Joe, don’t let her get away. Go to Mariah, tell her how you feel.”

How did he feel? When he thought about losing Mariah, his heart froze up. That’s why he was scared. Because he wanted her so badly he couldn’t entertain the idea of losing her. So he pretended he didn’t want her.

“Don’t be like me,” Clover said. “Spending the rest of your life regretting not taking a chance. It’s no way to live. It’s time for a fresh start.”

N
ine days after he’d kissed Mariah, Joe was out exercising Miracle when a white pickup truck with “Cutter Construction” stenciled on the door drove up the road.

What in the hell was Lee Turpin doing out here?

Joe narrowed his eyes, watched as Turpin motored past his house. Turpin rolled his window down and stuck out his left hand with his middle finger extended.

The asshole was going to see Mariah.

Was she dating him? Turpin hung out at the Silver Horseshoe, and with Mariah working there, he’d had time to start up a flirtation.

A distant humming buzzed Joe’s ears, angry as swarming bees. He clenched his teeth, knotted his fist, jealousy pushing against him, as demanding as a petulant child.