Wild West Wedding (River's End Ranch Book 9)

by Caroline Lee

  Last night, he and Dink had met at Will’s house for dinner again, and then the four of them—Indy was less than helpful when it came to tissue paper and ribbon—put together the welcome bags for the guests’ rooms. It would be up to him and Dink to place them in the rooms this weekend, when most of the guests—like the rest of her family—arrived.

  And today…they’d been apart. After so many days living and working in close quarters, it felt weird to not be talking to her, teasing her. To not be completely exasperated by her lack of organization and impulsiveness, while also unnervingly attracted to her.

  Jace dropped one leg out of the hammock, prepared to give himself another little push, and was suddenly struck by a thought: I wonder what she would think of this spot?

  And that’s when he began to wonder if maybe he was in trouble. He’d known her for such a short amount of time, and anyone could see they were so, so wrong for each other… But he couldn’t go a single day apart from her without thinking about her? Constantly?

  Yep, he might be in trouble.

  Sighing, he pulled himself out of the hammock. It just wasn’t as peaceful as it had been a few minutes before, due mainly to the gnawing pull in his gut that insisted he go find her. He wanted—no, he needed—to see her, to tease her, to tell her about Will’s invitation.

  When he climbed up onto the tiny house’s porch, he heard an unfamiliar noise, sort of a pulsing hum, coming from inside the house. Opening the door didn’t help; the noise filled the whole space, so he couldn’t pinpoint where it was coming from.

  It only took ten strides—he was pretty tall—to reach the back bedroom, and see that the pocket door was open. He hesitated only a moment before sticking his head in, and was surprised not to find Dink making the racket. It was definitely her bedroom. There was Hagrid’s bin, holding a sleeping hedgehog, and one side of the bed had been destroyed. The pillows—so many pillows!—thrown this way and that, and the sheets kicked all over. Jace resisted the urge to make the bed, and instead hung his sweater inside the bedroom closet.

  On their second day in the tiny house, he’d found all her boxes and bins had been moved upstairs into the loft, and all his clothing had been neatly hung up in her closet. She’d even nested his suitcases inside hers so they could all fit up on the shelf, to leave room for his shoes below. Apparently, even if she didn’t care much for her own clothing and belongings, she knew how to respect his.

  Even though he slept upstairs and she slept downstairs, he was beginning to suspect that maybe she’d been correct in trying to convince him to take the bedroom. Besides, this king-sized bed would fit his taller frame much better than the double upstairs. Still, it wouldn’t be gentlemanly, so Jace stuck to his guns.

  Abruptly, the whirring noise stopped, and he could hear her saying something—was she singing? She had to be upstairs. Jace slipped off his shoes, arranged them neatly in the closet, and padded back into the kitchen and communal space in his socks. By the time he got to the stairs, the noise had begun again, and he winced as it reverberated throughout the whole house.

  At the top of the stairs, he paused on his hands and knees—the only way to move around in the loft—to stare at the mess. She’d trashed his bedroom!

  There, spread all over his neatly made bed, were piles of material completely covering the duvet. If there was some kind of order to it, Jace sure couldn’t see it. Along the walls were even more stacks of material, separated by color and texture, although he didn’t know what any of them were. A big stack of USPS first-class shipping envelopes had tipped over and were spread across the floor between her and the bed, and everywhere he looked were stickers galore. He read some: “Top Secret,” “Deliver To,” “Do Not Open Unless Addressee,” and one stack of brightly colored “League of Superheroes” stickers.

  None of it made any sense…especially the woman sitting along the opposite wall, her back to him, the source of the noise. A long-forgotten memory of a foster mother who liked to sew told Jace that Dink was sitting in front of a sewing machine that had been set up on an overturned bin. That explained the funny-shaped box she’d loaded into his SUV in Moscow; a sewing machine. She sat cross-legged in front of it on the floor, hunched over, using one knee to press the foot pedal.

  He knew that because she was wearing a skirt that was split up both sides, so he could see quite a lot of skin of her knees and thighs.

  Clearing his throat, Jace tore his gaze away from her legs, and focused on the back of her teal head. “Dink?”

  She didn’t respond; couldn’t hear him over the sound of the machine. “Dink?” he tried again, louder. Still nothing.

  Then the machine stopped, and blessed silence stretched through the house.

  Well, almost-silence.

  Because while she was sewing, Dink listened to music; he could now see the ear buds she wore. And she didn’t just listen…she sang too. He’d heard her sing on the trip north to River’s End Ranch, and knew that she wasn’t exactly blessed in that department. But what was surprising was her choice of songs.

  Dink was humming along to Brahms’ Hungarian Dance Number Five.

  Jace burst into laughter, causing her to twist around suddenly. She met his eyes with an expression of half-guilt, half-defiance, and he just had to chuckle even harder. It was going to be delicious to hear this excuse, but first he had to explain why he was still laughing at her.

  “Dink Redfern, here you had me fooled into thinking you were entirely uncivilized!”

  “Is this about the room?” She raised her chin and scooted around until she was facing him, still cross-legged. “Sorry. I tend to…sorta spread out when I’m working.”

  Still chuckling, Jace sat back to spare his knees. “You’re humming what has to be Johannes Brahms’ most popular work. He did a lot of the Hungarian Dances, but the fifth one is—”

  “What?” she interrupted.

  “The song you were singing.” When she looked blank, he sighed, wondering why she was playing dumb. “Duuuum-da-dum, dum-dum-da-da-dum…” He knew he could carry a tune better than she could, and it was one of his favorites, never failing to inspire a toe-tap.

  Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to help. Her blank expression slowly changed, but not to one of mere understanding. Instead, a smile grew on her impish face, until he got the impression she was laughing at him as much as he’d been at her. “Sorry to disappoint, Jace.”

  “I know what I heard.”

  Instead of agreeing, though, she broke into song. Actual song. Like, with lyrics.

  “If you liiiike Hungarian food, they have a goulash which is very good.” She was grinning hugely as she belted out words Brahms definitely didn’t write. But Jace couldn’t deny that the tune was from the composer’s best-known work. “Or iiiif you wiiiish a dish that’s Chinese, somewhere down in column B there’s lobster Cantonese. Hey!”

  Apparently his expression conveyed his horror, because she began to chuckle again. “It’s Allan Sherman’s Hungarian Goulash #5, from 1963. He was like the original Weird Al Yankovic”

  “Who?”

  “Allan Sherman wrote a bunch of songs parodying other songs.” She had trouble getting the words out past the laughter. “Or classical music.”

  Jace wasn’t sure if he was horrified or flabbergasted by the lyrics. He kept his expression totally bland however, when he muttered a sarcastic, “How visionary of him.”

  Which only made her laugh harder.

  “You thought I’d suddenly started to like your silly classical music?”

  He had to press his lips into a line to keep from smiling. Her laughter was irritatingly contagious. “I thought you’d suddenly acquired some class.”

  The renewed peals of laughter told him she wasn’t the least bit offended. Which was good, because he hadn’t intended to offend her…she was just too easy to tease.

  In an effort to change the subject, he plastered on his most-intimidating scowl—he was good at scowling, he knew—and gestured around the
room. “So…” Of course, he had to wait for her chuckles to subside. “You thought it was okay to come up to my room and, what? Detonate a bomb?”

  Having the good grace to blush, she shrugged. “I’m sorry, Jace. I told you I thought this space would be better for me, and this is why. It’s the only free space in the house. I couldn’t fit the sewing machine in the living room, and even if I could, it’d really be in the way.”

  Jace scooted forward, bringing himself closer to the bed and her random piles. “What is all of this?”

  But Dink didn’t answer right away. Her back was to her sewing machine now, and he watched as she laced her fingers in her lap between her crossed legs, and looked down. Staring at the top of her blonde cropped hair, Jace wondered if she was embarrassed, or just afraid to tell him. Either way, the feeling didn’t sit well with him. “Dink?”

  Her shoulders expanded as she took a deep breath. “This is my…my work.”

  Glancing around at the mess, Jace couldn’t make any sense of her claim. “Your work?”

  “You’re an accountant…” Her eyes met his then, and Jace felt the tug of that blue-green all the way to his stomach. “I sew. I call myself an artist, sometimes, but mainly I just…I make kids happy.”

  I make kids happy. It was a claim Jace suddenly wanted to support one hundred percent, but he didn’t understand. “Will you show me?” he asked quietly.

  Judging from the way her expression slowly lit up, as if she was cautiously trusting him, it was the right thing to ask. “You really care?”

  “I do,” Jace nodded.

  Dink took another deep breath. “I make and sell capes on Etsy.”

  “What’s Etsy?”

  She smiled slightly. “It’s a website for artists. If you want to commission a piece, or have something designed, you go there to connect with an artist. And if you make stuff—leather, cloth, paper, whatever your medium—you set up a ‘shop’ there so people can find you.” She tucked her skirt under herself and crawled over to one of the piles, still explaining. “My big brother, Elvis, began working with metal years ago, just for fun. When he started selling some of his designs online a few years back, he told me about the site, and I set up my own storefront.”

  Jace was trying to keep up. “Where you now sell…capes?”

  Her smile was back when she turned around holding a pile of material, but it wasn’t the same open and joyful smile as before. He wondered if he was the reason she was so cautious about sharing her work. “I make other stuff—anything anyone wants to commission me to sew. But mainly capes. For kids.”

  With that, she shook out the cloth she held, and Jace’s brows rose to see a child-sized cape. It was red with a big “J” in the middle of a white shield. It looked like it would blow in the slightest breeze…perfect for playing dress-up. His palms began to itch, and maybe she could tell, because she balled it up and tossed it across the small space between them.

  He caught it and spread it out in his lap. A childhood spent being shuffled from house to house, family to family, meant he had very few memories he wanted to cherish. But as he smoothed his hand over the fabric, he could imagine how having something like this could’ve meant a lot. Would’ve made a memory to cherish.

  When he looked up to meet Dink’s eyes, there was a lump in his throat. “This is… This is pretty awesome, Dink.”

  She could have made an off-hand comment, could’ve joked and brushed aside his praise. But instead, she just nodded. “People commission me to make capes for their kids or grandkids. That one is for ‘Super Jason’, a four-year-old in Buffalo, New York.” Super Jason. Had he ever thought of himself as Super Jason? If he had, Jace couldn’t recall.

  She pointed to the small printer sitting beside the sewing machine. “Once the cape is complete—and I’ll put almost anything on the cape, not just a letter, although letters are easiest—I have a form letter from the League of Superheroes that I insert the kid’s information in.”

  “The League of Superheroes?”

  She shrugged. “You know, like Marvel’s The Avengers?” At his blank look, she smiled again. “It’s just a made-up group of superheroes, Jace. The letter is inviting the kid to join, but outlines the requirements: how she or he has to be good for their parents, and help with chores, and follow directions… The parents give me specifics about feeding the cat or helping with younger siblings.”

  “And then what?” Jace couldn’t seem to make himself stop touching the cape in his lap, imagining the little boy—Super Jason—who would one day wear it.

  “I ship it to the kid, complete with all the fancy signage.” She jerked her thumb at the shipping envelopes, and all the “Top Secret” stickers scattered around.

  Jace’s eyes slowly widened. “So this kid, Jason” –he held up the red cape and shook it a little— “Will get a package addressed to him from the League of Superheroes, covered in all this ‘top-secret’ language…and when he opens it, he’ll get a cape and a personal letter telling him how to be a real-life superhero?”

  Dink shrugged again, that cautious look back on her face. “Yeah… I know it sounds a little, um…”

  “Incredible. Dink, this is the coolest thing you’re doing for these kids!” Jace didn’t bother trying to tamp down his enthusiasm. “This will make their day. Their whole month, probably.”

  “You… You think so?”

  “I know so.” He knew what it would’ve meant to him as a kid to receive a delivery like this. “Not just because they’ll think it’s awesome to get a package in the mail, but because they’ll know someone out there really, genuinely believes in them.” Jace swallowed. “That’s really special. You’re doing something really special for them.”

  Whoops. She was looking at him sort of funny now, her head cocked to one side and her lips pursed thoughtfully. Had he given too much away? “Well, that’s why I do it. And the money, obviously. At fifty bucks a pop, I filled enough orders today to support me all week.” That was impressive. “But, yeah. I like the idea of giving kids confidence, and making them believe they can make the world a better place.”

  “You’re teaching them to be their own superheroes.”

  Jace met her lovely blue-green eyes then, and something changed inside him. She was impulsive and messy and loud and had horrible taste in music, but she was…perfect.

  Anyone who worked this hard to make the world a better place—and through kids, no less—was someone that he could admire. When she smiled bashfully and nodded, he felt his chest clench. She was someone he wanted to admire.

  “Can I help?” He could tell that his offer surprised her. It had surprised himself, frankly. But after so many days working with her on the wedding, it just felt right to be up here, sitting cross-legged on the floor and helping her with this. “I mean, if there’s something that isn’t too hard—or artsy—that I could do.”

  She smiled for real then, and he knew she understood. “Yeah,” she drawled, “I don’t want you to screw up too much of my artsy stuff, after all.”

  Dink showed him how to fold the completed capes up in tissue paper, and sign the letters with a fancy made-up signature from the leader of the League of Superheroes, and how to package them all carefully. His methodical packaging earned some teasing from her as she went back to sewing, but he didn’t care; he was just happy to be helping her. After he’d packaged everything she’d completed already, he pulled up her spreadsheets on her laptop, and spruced up her accounting and record-keeping software while she jokingly yelled that pencils and paper worked fine.

  It was exactly what he needed to keep his mind off the upcoming interview… But it didn’t do a thing to get her out from under his skin. The hours together just proved they were complete opposites…who worked well together.

  They worked until the afternoon sunlight dimmed and Dink declared it too dark to sew. That’s when Jace’s stomach growled loudly enough to make her giggle.

  “Sorry,” he apologized with a smile. “You want t
o get some dinner?”

  “Sure.” She was moving piles of half-finished capes around. “Will and Ellie’s place again?” They’d been over there for dinner a few times.

  “Will told me they’ve started hosting trivia at the restaurant on Thursday nights, and that he and Ellie were heading over. Do you—” He had to clear his throat, and suddenly felt like he was in high school again. “Would you like to go over there? With me? We could join their team.”

  Jace swallowed. Why did that feel like I was asking her out on a date?

  “Why, Jason Cunningham!” Dink smiled. “Was that you asking me out to dinner?”

  “Sure.” He shrugged too quickly to be nonchalant. “I mean, if you want. Trivia sounded fun, I thought, and Will and Ellie could introduce us to anyone we don’t know.”

  Although he knew all of the Westons, and Dink had met them all in the last few days, there were still plenty of River’s End Ranch regulars he hadn’t met yet. If he wanted to have a chance at the job Wade was interviewing him for, he’d have to prove that he could fit in around the ranch.

  “I think trivia and dinner sounds like a lot of fun. And who knows, I might surprise you.”

  “How?”

  “Maybe I’ll be a kick-butt trivia gal.”

  He had to smile. “After this” –he gestured to the piles of capes around them— “I wouldn’t be surprised by anything you do.”

  “Oh really?” She raised a brow. “Sounds like a challenge.”

  Jace raised himself on his hands and knees and shuffled towards the stairs. “Then challenge accepted, Miss Redfern.”

  “Wait!” He paused in the process of backing down the too-narrow staircase. “What about this mess?” Dink was crouched in the middle of the floor, surrounded by piles and filled postal packages.

  “You’re worried about a mess?”

  “You’re not going to be able to sleep like this!”

  She was right. The piles of material covering the bed he now knew to be half-completed capes, the pieces all carefully laid out and ready to be pinned together. Having seen her work, he knew laying out the pieces and pinning them together was the part of the project that took the most time; actually sewing the cape together was easy, compared to that. So the capes laid carefully on the bed represented at least an hour’s worth of work.