Table of Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Acknowledgments
About the Author
The Wedding Date Disaster, by Avery Flynn
The Matchmaker Bride, by Ginny Baird
A Lot Like Love, by Jennifer Snow
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2021 by Robin Bielman. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
10940 S Parker Road
Suite 327
Parker, CO 80134
Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.
Amara is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
Edited by Stacy Abrams
Cover design by Elizabeth Turner Stokes
Cover art by Shutterstock/Oleksandr Lysenko and
Shutterstock/WeddingVideoThailand,
Interior design by Toni Kerr
Print ISBN 978-1-64937-094-5
ebook ISBN 978-1-64937-114-0
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition November 2021
Also by Robin Bielman
Secret Wishes series
Kissing the Maid of Honor
Her Accidental Boyfriend
Wild About Her Wingman
Wherever You Go series
Talk British to Me
Lips Close to Mine
Too Hard to Resist
Kisses in the Sand series
Keeping Mr. Right Now
Blame it on the Kiss
The Best Friend Bargain
To all my readers, new and returning,
thank you from the bottom of my heart. xoxo
At Entangled, we want our readers to be well-informed. If you would like to know if this book contains any elements that might be of concern for you, please check the book’s webpage.
https://entangledpublishing.com/books/the-wedding-crasher-and-the-cowboy
Chapter One
Five days until the wedding
Rookie mistake number two for crashing a wedding: allowing an official guest to take her picture.
Too late, Kennedy realized, she’d just handed over evidence of her presence. With a thumbs-up and an overly wide smile to boot, because why not really stick out among the more calm and cool attendees?
Mistake number one: losing track of her coconspirator.
Her best friend handled mischief much better than she did. He blended in to any situation with confidence and ease. Case in point: there he stood across the beautifully decorated outdoor welcome brunch talking to the man of honor without a care in the world. Andrew did incognito like Tom Brady threw a football—effortlessly. She, on the other hand, lingered at the periphery of the event, awkwardly trying to appear casual and hoping to get the groom alone for an urgent conversation.
Much to her dismay, the groom and his bride-to-be hadn’t arrived yet. At least fifty other people mingled around the “backyard” of the three-story inn, talking, laughing, and filling their plates with food. (There was a doughnut cake! Of course there was. The groom loved glazed doughnuts. As did she.) The inn and ranch stood on acres of land, and a tall decorative fence surrounded this particular grassy area. To keep the ranch’s animals at bay, she’d overheard someone say.
She smiled to herself. She’d accidentally met one of those animals yesterday.
White tables and chairs, ocean-blue umbrellas, flower arrangements inside mason jars, and small shrubs in burlap bags tied with white silk ribbons painted a beautiful picture personifying the sea meets the trees image that made this particular Northern California ranch unique. The bride loved the ocean and the groom loved the forest and mountains, and they’d found the perfect destination to offer both. This morning, a cloudless sky kept Kennedy’s sunglasses on her face, while a slight breeze carried the scent of salty air and pine and kept the summer day at a comfortable temperature.
She walked along the fence line toward the mimosa bar. A drink ought to help her blend in—standing by herself like a fish out of water was no way to get in the wedding spirit. She poured equal parts orange juice and champagne into a glass flute and added a splash of pineapple juice.
“Cheers,” an older woman beside her said.
“Cheers,” Kennedy answered, clinking glasses and blowing out a small sigh of relief. That went well.
Drink in hand, she found a quiet spot to stand beside the fence with a clear view of the deck and steps that led down to the first of many pre-wedding gatherings. From this position, she’d for sure see the groom’s arrival. Hopefully sooner rather than later, because she was positive she had “wedding crasher” written all over her face.
“Caught you.”
Ugh. That deep, masculine voice belonged to her least favorite person and startled her into choking down her sip of citrus bubbly.
She turned around to find Maverick on the other side of the fence, a cowboy hat on his head, his blue eyes pinned to her with a sparkle that annoyed as much as it galvanized.
“Not too hard to do,” she told him, “since I’m not trying to hide.” Not really.
He stood above the top of the fence and looked down at her with a mix of interest and displeasure. “Then what are you doing?” he asked.
The gentle wind carried his scent to her nose, and the combo of man and soap upped his rugged appearance beyond fairness. She twitched her nose to try to get rid of it.
“Brunching, obviously. What are you doing?” He couldn’t see her eyes through her sunglasses, but they were narrowed at him anyway.
He chuckled.
“What’s so funny?”
“I like your shades, but you get a little crease in your forehead when you frown at me.”
She instantly relaxed her face. “It’s such a common occurrence, of course you’d notice.”
“I’m pretty sure I should be the one giving you a dirty look.” He took quick stock of the event behind her. “Given you haven’t been invited to this wedding.”
“Shh!” At his raised eyebrows, she reluctantly added, “Please.”
So began a staring contest, just like they used to do in college when they’d each stand their ground, unwilling to see the other’s point of view. Only this time, Maverick held all the power. Damn him.
A bell tinkled. Someone declared, “They’re here!” And a
ripple of excitement stole over the celebration.
Kennedy spun around to watch the engaged couple join their family and friends. The bride-to-be wore a shimmery aquamarine shift dress while the groom-to-be wore a Stetson with his khaki pants and collared shirt. Huh. She had no idea he had a bit of cowboy in him. Glancing over her shoulder at Maverick, she could admit that he wore the hat a hundred times better. Not that she liked it or anything.
“Remember what I said, Shortcake.” His tone, while friendly, brokered no compromise.
Grr.
If Maverick called her that one more time, she’d put cow dung in his boots. Or itching powder in his boxer briefs. (Not that she knew what he wore under his Wranglers.) Or better yet, beat him at his own game. Cause him a little bit of trouble.
Guests tapped their forks and spoons to their glassware and chanted, “Kiss, kiss…”
The smiling couple obliged, the groom dipping his bride for a dramatic lip-lock. Family and friends cheered and whistled. Kennedy stayed quiet. The kiss ended with Reed plopping his cowboy hat on his future wife’s head. Then, from across the bright green lawn, his gaze collided with hers.
He shook his head. Not enough to draw attention, but enough to say, Not now. She tried to use telepathic communication to ask, When? But his focus turned to someone else.
“They look happy to me,” Maverick said from over her shoulder.
“Oh, are you still here?” She twisted back around. Big mistake. He’d folded his arms on top of the fence, his tanned, sinewy forearms on display in a relaxed pose. His easygoing composure did not help her novice wedding-crashing skills.
“I’m here all week,” he reminded her, a lilt to his voice indicating he had the leg up on their little cat-and-mouse game.
She might be on his ranch, but she never gave up on a goal she set for herself. Kennedy looked beyond his wide shoulders toward the mountains and reminded herself of the rules of wedding crashing that she and Andrew had discussed this morning:
1. Act the part. Not much of a stretch, since she did honestly know the groom. So she lacked an actual, physical invitation. At five feet nothing, it wasn’t like she took up much room.
2. Hang with the crowd. Okay, she needed more practice at that. Standing at the fence line with Maverick might look suspicious.
3. Have a backstory ready. Andrew was playing the part of her boyfriend and they’d faked it before, so it should be easy as long as he stuck to the plan. Plus, she and Reed were doctor friends and had plenty of history.
4. Pay attention to the staff and security. Maverick could be considered both, since ownership meant wearing many different hats. He knew she didn’t belong here, but he didn’t know the profound impact she might have on the event. And best to keep it that way. Which made her feel awful, but necessity trumped honesty in this situation.
“You’re thinking really hard over there.” Maverick’s voice brought her focus back to him. “Don’t hurt yourself,” he teased.
She smiled up at him. “Worried?”
“Hardly.”
“I should get back to my party.”
“Or I could call the police and have you arrested for trespassing.”
She huffed out a breath. “You wouldn’t dare.”
He lifted his arms off the fence and tipped his cowboy hat in a show of brawn and authority. “You know the deal, Shortcake. No funny business.” With that, he turned and walked away, leaving her to fume.
How had she landed herself in this much hot water so darn soon?
Chapter Two
Two days earlier…
The man on the computer screen had salt-and-pepper hair and Paul Newman eyes. And for the past fifteen minutes, he’d made Kennedy Martin’s palms sweat. “Why emergency room medicine?” he asked.
Finally. A question she had a quick and easy answer for. Make that two answers.
She ran her hands along the bottom of her crisp white collared shirt. It was the only material available, since she wasn’t wearing any pants. (Comfort was key with big interviews and, since she was visible only from the chest up, she’d opted out of clothing her lower body. Not her best decision, however, given her sweaty palms.)
“The first reason is there’s never a dull moment. A man once came in to the emergency room via ambulance with burns on his lower extremities. His tennis shoes were charred and the bottoms of his jeans were burned away, but thankfully his skin wasn’t too bad. He’d been in his backyard using a propane weed burner and things got out of control. I smelled alcohol on his breath and asked him if he’d been drinking, and he said, ‘Nooo, ma’am.’ I was practically tipsy just from standing next to him, so I looked him straight in the eye and as professionally as possible said, ‘Sir, you are a liar, liar, pants on fire.’ The paramedics standing beside me cracked up, and the man was so drunk, he did, too.”
Dr. Weaver, chief physician at the most respected hospital in Boston, laughed. Excellent.
She wanted this job more than anything. Needed it. A new start, a different big city. She’d miss Los Angeles, but an opportunity like this didn’t come along very often.
“A sense of humor is always good,” he said.
“The second reason is more personal. When I was fourteen, an emergency room doctor saved my life. Long story short, scar tissue from a surgery I had as a newborn broke off and triggered a bowel obstruction. No one could figure out why I was in pain, since things seemed generally fine. Until they weren’t, and I went into sudden heart failure. An ER resident discovered I was crashing and alerted the attending minutes before I would have passed out. They rushed me into surgery just in time to save me.
“I was really scared, and the ER doctor in particular made me feel like everything was going to be okay. When there was a complication after the surgery”—Kennedy closed her eyes for a moment and took a breath—“I remember picturing Dr. Hawkins’s overconfident expression and hearing him say I was strong and had my whole life ahead of me, and that made me fight to survive. Once I recovered, I knew I wanted to give that same hope and assurance to people facing medical emergencies.”
Dr. Weaver nodded from behind his desk. He jotted something down on a notepad before glancing at the thick black watch on his wrist. “Having been through something like that definitely gives you a special perspective.”
“It does.”
“Where do you see yourself in five years?”
“Running an emergency room,” she said without hesitation. She almost said “running your emergency room” but didn’t want to be presumptuous.
“Is that all?”
She took a second to study him. Was he asking about her personal life? Was he a family man, a proponent of a strong work-life balance? “I’d like to get married and have kids, but there’s no guarantee on love.” She pressed down on her knee to stop it from bouncing. After what happened with her ex, the mere mention of the L-word still made her twitchy.
He gave a brief nod—in commiseration or dismissal, she wasn’t sure—and she hoped she hadn’t given the wrong answer. “It was a pleasure speaking with you, Miss Martin. I’ll be in touch within a week if we’d like you to fly out for a final interview.”
“Thank you very much for your time and consideration, Dr. Weaver. I sincerely appreciate it and hope to hear from you.”
“Take care,” he said and ended the video chat.
Kennedy closed her laptop and relaxed in her chair, relieved to be done with her second interview. If she got that third, in-person invitation, she’d be another step closer to her dream job. She played their conversation over and over again in her mind as she stared out her bedroom window. A lone cloud in the August sky shaped like an anchor gave her hope. She wasn’t about to sink. Not yet anyway.
“Ned!” Ava called out, arriving inside Kennedy’s room like a tornado and flopping down on the bed. “I can’t take it anymore!”
Kennedy stood and dropped next to her younger sister on the white comforter. They lay shoulder to shoulder on the queen-size bed, being close their preferred position. “It being…?”
“Homework! Duh. I hate summer school. Why did I think this was a good idea?”
“You didn’t. Mom and Dad did.”
“Oh, right. The broken parental unit who decided to band together and force their youngest daughter to take classes so I graduate on time.”
Kennedy thought about the extensive med school loans she’d be paying off for the next gazillion years. “It might suck now, but you’ll be glad later.”
“I need you to save me.” Ava rolled onto her side, propping her head in her hand. “Can we get pad thai and watch a movie?”
The number of times Kennedy had saved her sister were too many to count, but that was okay. Saving people—literally and figuratively—kept her heart and head in a happy place.
“Sounds good.”
“Yay! Thank you. Want to go pick it up now? I missed lunch.” Ava glanced down Kennedy’s body, her brows knitting in confusion. “Did you just do an interview without any pants on? Oh my God, you’re my hero. That is totally badass and awesome.”
“That’s me, an awesome badass.”
“And how rude of me not to ask how it went.”
“No worries, and I think it went well.”
Ava jumped to her feet. “That’s great! Can I borrow your black baby tee I love so much?” She didn’t wait for an answer, instead ransacking the top drawer of Kennedy’s dresser like a dog looking for a bone.
“What’s wrong with yours?” she asked, scooting to the foot of the bed. Ava had the same ruffle-edged tee in white.
“It’s in the laundry. Found it!” Ava waved the shirt in the air and turned around. “Thank you. I’ll be ready in ten.”
Kennedy smiled as she watched her sister skip out of the room. Why Ava needed to wear that shirt to walk down the block to pick up food to bring back to their apartment, Kennedy didn’t know.
She swapped her interview blouse for a soft crew neck T-shirt, then pulled on a pair of drawstring linen pants. And because she always liked to add a few inches to her slight, five-foot stature, she slipped her feet into her favorite black strappy four-inch sandals. Being taller gave her an extra boost of confidence. People always thought she was years younger than she actually was, which, in medicine, didn’t really do her any favors.
The Wedding Crasher and the Cowboy Page 1
