A Nice Day for a Cowboy Wedding

by Nicole Helm

  “It looks good as new. You must have really been working on it.”

  “Gavin’s been helping.”

  “Oh, I know. He’s always sneaking off to come over here.”

  Lou laughed, though it didn’t sound very happy. “Care to stop him?”

  “You know Gav just wants to help,” Deb said gently.

  “Well, he shouldn’t.”

  “As if I could tell a man with the last name Tyler not to help. Owen might have died years ago, but it seems to be imprinted in the DNA.”

  Lou glanced back at Cora, and she was so completely lost. She tried not to feel out of place. After all, Deb and Lou were old friends and neighbors. Cora was just the wedding planner.

  “We had a fire,” Lou explained. “In the barn.” She gestured to her bandana-covered face with her gloved right hand. “I’m about the only thing that survived. But we’re rebuilding, and Lou’s Blooms will be up and running and ready for this wedding by September.”

  “I’m glad. We’ve got at least two more weddings scheduled for the year with Mile High Weddings, and we’d like to use as many Gracely-local vendors as possible.”

  “I’m your girl,” Lou said, walking them toward the barn. As they got closer, Cora could see that, though the front looked completely finished, the building itself was still in the stages of being rebuilt.

  They walked through the door, and everything inside was mostly wood. Unfinished walls and rafters, the smell of sawdust and flowers, and just the strangest underlying hint of smoke.

  There were buckets and tables and big shelving units labeled with things like purple lace and floral tape. Even though it clearly wasn’t a finished florist-type space, there was a lot of evidence Lou Fairchild knew exactly what she was doing.

  She led them over to a long table along the far wall. There were cutouts in the walls for windows, clearly, but plastic covered them.

  “Windows go in next week,” Lou said with a careless wave toward the plastic. Then she tapped her non-gloved hand to the table. She had pictures all set out and a few bunches of flowers arranged together. “Pictures are of the flowers I’ll have in September. I brought in some possible color schemes with different flowers. Em told me what cake you chose, so I thought focusing on greens and whites would be good, but I’ve got some more colorful options to consider too.”

  Cora studied the flowers, the color schemes. It was all beautiful, but Lou was right. For the things Deb had been looking at, the white and green with maybe some brown accents would be the prettiest.

  Deb made an odd squeaking noise, and when Cora looked over she realized the woman was crying. Alarmed, Cora reached out. “Deb?”

  “Oh, it’s so stupid.” She waved a hand in front of her face. “Don’t know why I’m getting emotional.”

  “Well, weddings are emotional,” Lou offered, eyebrows drawn together. “But you seem sad, Mrs. T. Not emotional.”

  Deb sniffed and then made another sound, something like a swallowed sob. “Boone’s home,” she managed to croak.

  “Ooh,” Lou said, because she knew all the history and all Cora knew was he’d been in the rodeo and was a troublemaker.

  “Ben thinks I should kick him out, and we had a big fight over it, and then I started wondering last night if Shane and Gavin aren’t right about this whole thing. I’m not at the end of my life yet, but what’s a woman my age doing getting married?”

  Lou and Cora looked at each other, both wide-eyed and a little lost. In Cora’s experience, Deb always knew what to do and never wavered. Cora wondered if, in all the years Lou had known Deb, she’d ever seen any uncertainty. Cora kind of doubted it.

  “I just don’t know what to do. I’m willing to do something I want for myself and the man I love, even if it irritates my kids, but I’m not willing to turn my back on my kids for some man.”

  “Well . . .” Lou looked helplessly at Cora with a shrug.

  “If he loves you, he’ll understand how important your children are to you,” Cora said firmly.

  “He can be so hard sometimes.” Deb sniffled, using the tissue Lou had handed her to dab at her eyes and nose. “But then so can I.”

  “Deb Tyler, you are the least hard woman I know,” Lou said firmly. “Except maybe my sister.”

  Which earned a watery chuckle from Deb.

  “If he’s making you feel like there’s something wrong with you, hardness or loving your children, well, he isn’t the man you think he is,” Cora said. Much as she hated to butt in, she knew that all for a fact.

  Deb looked at Cora then. “He’s not a bad man.”

  Cora really hoped Shane talking to her about his Ben doubts weren’t transparent, because this wasn’t only about that. It was about Cora’s own experiences. She knew a thing or two about bad men. “Then he will prove that by apologizing and coming to his senses. Sometimes . . . Sometimes another person can make you feel like you’re wrong when you’re not. They can . . .” Cora looked from Deb’s to Lou’s interested face and felt her cheeks warm, but she pressed on. “They can seem loving when they’re not.”

  Deb reached out and took Cora’s hand and squeezed. “Thank you for that. That’s an excellent reminder.”

  “We all need it sometimes.” But inwardly, Cora felt something like dread twisting in her chest. Shane was so certain Ben was bad, a liar or maybe worse. If Ben was making Deb—this strong, determined, resilient woman—doubt her actions, maybe Shane really was right.

  Which meant Cora was going to have to help Shane spy. She’d agreed this morning thinking they wouldn’t find anything, hoping they wouldn’t. Now . . .

  “Oh, silly cold feet. Ben’s a good man. If I hadn’t married Owen because we had one little argument, well, I’d have five less kids. That’s for sure. Well, four anyway.” Deb smiled and pointed to the pile of white and green flowers. “You’re right, Lou. This one will look the best. Now, which flowers will you have in September?”

  Cora paid attention, making notes of flowers and prices and dates, but her stomach churned. She couldn’t help but wonder if she was planning a wedding she was going to be involved in stopping.

  * * *

  “You got good instincts, kid,” Shane said as Micah managed to get off Stan in a smooth move.

  “Yeah?”

  “That’s only your third dismount, and you were smooth,” Molly said with a kind smile. “Still need some work on the getting up, and the rein holds, but you’re making great progress in a short period of time. We get a few lessons in, you’ll be a pro in no time.”

  Micah grinned, the apples of his cheeks hinting a little red. “Cool,” he said, clearly failing at nonchalance. The kid was hooked, and a hard worker all in all. As long as there was the promise of more horse riding in the future, he did what they asked of him, and once he’d figured out that hurrying through a job didn’t get him to the ride any sooner, he’d started to do a more thorough job.

  “Why don’t you take Stan here into the stables and rub him down?”

  Micah’s eyes widened. “By myself?”

  “If you think you can handle it.”

  Micah nodded, as if doing a bobblehead impersonation. “Yeah, yeah I can handle it. I’ll do a good job.” He looked up at the big horse adoringly, then flicked a suspicious glance back at Molly and Shane. He ducked his head, and Shane suspected he was trying to hide his excitement from them.

  Micah made a clicking noise, clearly mimicking what he had heard Shane and Molly do, and then gently pulled on the reins. Stan, the horse Molly used for most of her lessons and therefore used to inexperienced riders, easily obeyed and walked with Micah’s guidance into the stables.

  “He’s so sweet,” Molly said.

  “Good kid,” Shane agreed. “Mom knew what she was doing when she suggested this.”

  “She usually does. Speaking of . . .”

  Shane braced himself for a lecture from his younger sister.

  “I was thinking that maybe instead of pushing Mom about Ben,
we take an alternative tact. Let her marry Ben, if that’s what she wants, but that doesn’t mean we couldn’t suggest some . . . legal protection.”

  “Are you going to suggest that to Mom?” he asked incredulously.

  “Hell no, that’s your job.” Molly’s grin flashed but faded quickly. “She’s not going to listen to us about the whole thing, but maybe we can appeal to her practicality.”

  Shane didn’t know why the idea didn’t appeal to him. It was smart. It would save Mom from the kind of embarrassment he’d suffered, but . . . She’d still be hurt. He couldn’t abide the thought.

  “We’ll think about it,” Shane said.

  “We? You speak for all of us now?” She shook her head. “Of course you do.” Her tone wasn’t so much bitter as it was sad. “This isn’t working. The way we are.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Molly shook her head. “I don’t know,” she muttered. “It’s like we’re all separate, fighting separate battles, not letting anyone else in.”

  “We’re not doing that.”

  She laughed, and this was bitter. “So says you.”

  “Mol—”

  She held up a hand. “No, I’m just . . .” She swallowed, squinting off into the sun. “The divorce stuff came through today, and I’m pissy and taking it out on you. Not fair.”

  “Hey.” When she didn’t look at him, he reached out and took her by the shoulders, giving them a squeeze until she raised her gaze. “You know if you ever need a shoulder to cry on, I’m here.”

  She looked patently miserable. “Tylers don’t cry, remember?”

  “We could. I mean, I’d rather cut my balls off, but you could.”

  That earned him a watery chuckle, and she leaned into him with a sigh. “You really do hold us all together. I’m just starting to think the rest of us need to do some holding back.”

  “I . . . don’t know what that means.”

  She pulled back, any trace of tears gone, and she smiled. He knew she wasn’t okay, but he also knew if she wanted to let herself go, she would.

  “You don’t have to know what it means, I don’t think. Think about talking to Mom about a prenup or something similar. Talk to Gavin about it, and I’ll talk to Boone.”

  “I could talk to Boone.”

  Molly grinned. “I don’t want to clean up any blood. You take the moron. I’ll take the idiot.”

  Shane nodded. “Fine, fine. And Lindsay?”

  Molly hesitated. “She likes Ben.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “I don’t know why Mom’s doing this. It sucks, and I’m wrapped up in my own crap, and it sucks.”

  “I’ll take Lindsay then.”

  “I wish I could crawl into a cave and come out in a year.”

  “You’d miss an awful lot.”

  “Yeah, well.” She shrugged. “I’m going to go take a very long shower and have a very long, private cry. I’ll see you at dinner.”

  Shane nodded and offered her a wave as she turned and strode to the house. Once he was sure she was gone, he rubbed his hands over his face. Tylers might not cry, but they sure got swindled when it came to love.

  He’d made the mistake himself, he’d let Molly make the mistake when he hadn’t thought to lock her in her room till she saw some sense, and now Mom was about to make it too.

  Not on his watch.

  Shane stepped into the stables to check on Micah. Shane tensed momentarily when he saw Boone was with him, helping get Stan all cleaned up.

  “Knocked him out,” Boone was saying. “One strong punch, right to the jaw, bam,” Boone said, grinning and replicating the movement with the hint of a wince.

  “Can you teach me?” Micah asked in awe.

  Shane stepped forward. “No, he can’t.” What was his brother thinking, telling these kinds of stories to a young, impressionable kid? “Violence is hardly an answer.”

  “Don’t listen to Shane. He’s an old stick-in-the-mud,” Boone stage-whispered.

  Shane wished he could find it funny, but Micah was his responsibility. He’d promised Cora he’d take good care of the kid, and Boone’s bullshit stories were certainly not taking care.

  “You can wash up for dinner.”

  “Can I?” Boone replied, with that cocky grin and the faint hint of tension laced underneath all that lazy cowboy.

  Shane didn’t know what he’d ever done to piss his brother off, what made them so much like oil and vinegar. It got him thinking about Molly’s saying they were all separate, fighting different, solitary battles.

  A truth he didn’t care for because he’d been fighting it his whole life.

  “Well, I’ll see you up at the house, kid. Whisper a few sordid stories to you at the dinner table.” Boone winked and then limped away.

  Shane bit back all the retorts, all the lectures. They’d never worked. Why would they work now when Boone was a man? Limping and injured and perfectly happy not to let the family in.

  Christ, his family was a mess, and Shane didn’t know what to do. Except put one foot in front of the other.

  “Stan looks good. You hungry?”

  “My mom should be getting here soon,” Micah grumbled.

  “She should. But I have a feeling my mom is going to invite you both to dinner. My mom’s a pretty good cook.”

  “Really?”

  Shane nodded. Appealing to a kid’s stomach was rarely the wrong choice. “Never had better in fact.”

  “My mom sucks at cooking.”

  Shane tried not to laugh. He doubted Cora would be happy to hear that estimation. “I bet she tries really hard though.”

  Micah shrugged, stepping out of the stall. He dutifully pulled the gate closed and latched it. Shane couldn’t help but be impressed that the kid would be that conscientious.

  Micah shuffled after Shane, kicking at the dirt, hands deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched. Something clearly heavy on those shoulders.

  “Good day?” Shane asked, hoping to open up the line of conversation. Maybe someone would depend on him a little bit, and he could be a little less of a failure.

  “Yeah. The horses are cool.”

  “Good.”

  Silence reigned except for the sounds of their feet hitting the grass as they walked across the yard toward the house.

  “That thing you . . .” Micah trailed off, glaring at the ground and stomping on it like it had done something to him. “Violence . . .” He shook his head vigorously.

  Shane watched him and wondered if Micah had taken such an interest in Boone’s story because someone had been picking on him. It could have been why Micah had gotten himself kicked out of basketball camp. Kids could be cruel for the dumbest of reasons.

  “Violence is hardly an answer,” Shane repeated. It was something his father had told him once. When Shane had gotten into a fight at school because Pat Butler had called a girl in their class fat and Shane had told him to shut his ugly mouth. Shane had earned a split lip and a black eye, but he’d broken Pat’s nose and felt pretty good about it.

  Until the lecture from his father.

  “So, what . . . what do you do when someone’s bothering you if not knock them out?” Micah mumbled so quietly Shane had to really strain to listen.

  Shane thought back to his father’s speech. In the end, it hadn’t been the lecture he’d expected. It had been neither outright censure nor fatherly delight. Something measured and tempered that had stuck with Shane for all the years after.

  “Actions have consequences. Negative actions typically have negative consequences. I try to avoid the negative consequences if I can, which means finding positive ways to deal with a situation. It doesn’t mean you never throw a punch, but it means violence is always your last resort. Because no matter how little you mean it, violence leaves a mark.”

  Micah’s head whipped up then, and he looked at Shane with something in his expression Shane couldn’t read. It might have made Shane uncomfortable if they hadn’t reached the porch
stairs.

  He heard the faint rumble of an engine and looked south to the entrance of the ranch. “That’ll be your mom,” he offered.

  Micah looked out into the distance, where the sun was flirting with the peaks of the mountains. He watched, his face tense as Cora’s car approached. Then he flicked another glance at Shane before his gaze drifted toward the stables.

  “Well, thanks.”

  “For what?” Shane asked, his own gaze on the now stopped car and Cora stepping out, the early evening light making her hair look more gold than its usual reddish hue. His chest kicked something strange as her mouth curved when her blue gaze met his.

  “The horses and stuff. I like it a lot. I like it here,” Micah said it all in a rush, likely embarrassed to admit he liked something.

  “You’re always welcome here, Micah. Promise.”

  Micah nodded jerkily as Cora reached the stairs.

  “Hey, guys. All horsed out?”

  “I think if he had his way he’d still be on one, but our stomachs got the better of us, didn’t they?”

  Micah nodded. He didn’t exactly lean into his mother when she slid her arm around him, but there was something Shane could see in the slight movement of his shoulders. A relaxation. A comfort.

  Shane opened the door and stepped inside, gesturing for them to follow. “I think I smell meatloaf. Anyone not a fan?”

  “Anything is better than my own cooking,” Cora said with a chuckle. “Isn’t that right, baby?”

  Micah groaned, probably at the endearment, but he gave Shane a meaningful glance as they stepped inside. As if to say see, she is a terrible cook.

  Shane closed the door and then walked behind them as Cora led Micah toward the dining room. If his gaze dropped to the way her pants skimmed her—

  He jerked his eyes back up to the back of her head, except she’d glanced back at him and caught him in the act of checking out her ass.

  She, however, didn’t frown or narrow her eyes or so much as look flustered. Instead, she winked at him.

  He was toast.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dinner was amazing. Not just the food, though partially that. Also, the company. Cora had never seen anything like it. Though she’d had some dinners with the Mile High crew, and those could get a little loud, it was just three men and three women plus her and Micah. Sometimes with the addition of Skeet. It was very adult and friendly.