Unlucky in Love

by Maggie McGinnis

  She laughed. “Noted. I think I’ll give it a try, though. This one’s a keeper.”

  Jenny gave her a kiss, then headed around the corner of the lodge and down the aisle, followed by Hayley, then Jess, then Kyla, while Katie waited to go last. Then Lexi heard a collective aww from the crowd as Gracie and her twin sister Bryn made their way, scattering tulip petals from little pink baskets.

  Katie turned to Lexi. “You ready, Ms. Almost–Mrs. Steele?”

  “Ready,” she nodded, then watched Katie head for the altar.

  And then the music changed, and Lexi felt her face break into a smile. Her turn.

  They got to the end of the aisle, and when Lexi looked up, all eyes were on her, but the only eyes she saw were Gunnar’s. He smiled, and as she walked slowly down the aisle, he never broke her gaze—just held on like he was physically pulling her toward him.

  When she reached the altar, Decker and Cole kissed her on each cheek, handing her to a waiting Gunnar.

  “Surprise,” he whispered, leaning close to her ear.

  “I’ll say.”

  “Pretty sure we broke the Curse, sweetheart.”

  Lexi laughed as they turned toward the minister, and she held Gunnar’s hand tightly through the opening remarks, the readings, and the song they’d chosen for Danielle to sing. When it was time for the vows, Gunnar took a deep breath, holding both of her hands in his as he looked into her eyes.

  “Alexis Maguire, you were not supposed to show up in my life.”

  The guests laughed at his opening, and Lexi couldn’t help but join them.

  He squeezed her fingers gently as he continued. “I was completely unequipped for a girl from the coast of Maine to come in and rock my Montana world…but you did. And then you left, and I thought I could learn to live without you again. After all, I’d been doing it for a long time before you ever came.

  “But—I couldn’t. I kept smelling your shampoo, kept wondering why I couldn’t put any other guest on Bella, kept wondering when I’d stop looking for you in your cabin window, breeze playing with your hair while you sipped your tea.

  “You know how I grew up, Lex. You know how important it is for me to have a place to call home, to have my own piece of land with my own house and my own family. But here’s what I learned after you left…it isn’t about the land. It’s about who you’re with on that land. Home isn’t about a place or a piece of acreage. It’s about love.”

  He paused, and she could barely breathe.

  “I love you, Lex. You came into my life as an eight-week guest, and it turns out it was impossible to say goodbye to you. And now?” He slid the platinum wedding band on her finger. “Now, I’ll never have to say goodbye again.”

  He winked, then kissed her. “See? Cowboys can, too, be romantic.”

  She laughed, wiping tears from her eyes while she tried to remember the vows she hadn’t finished writing yet. She stumbled through them—rather inelegantly, but Gunnar didn’t seem to care, and then they were walking back down the aisle hand in hand, tulip petals and birdseed cascading around them.

  And at midnight, under a starry sky, champagne was passed and toasts were made, and a million hugs later, the last taillights disappeared up the long Whisper Creek driveway.

  Hayley put her arm around Lexi’s shoulder. “Welcome to the family, Alexis Maguire Steele.”

  “Thanks, Hayley.” Lexi smiled, turning to hug her.

  “Just a quick question, before Daniel and I take off.” Hayley pointed toward the porch of the main lodge. “Your sister and Finn seem to be hitting it off over there. You think I should go warn her about drinking Whisper Creek water?”

  Lexi looked over, smiling as she saw her sister and the paragliding instructor laughing together. Katie’s favorite pink water bottle—the one she guzzled from all day long—was in her hand.

  “Nah.” She shook her head, grinning. “Let her drink the water.”

  “Who are you trying to get to move out here now?” Gunnar’s voice made her shiver deliciously as his arms came around her from behind. “And just to clarify, it’s the men who get you women here, not the damn water.”

  “Sure.” Hayley patted his arm, blowing him a kiss as she turned to follow Daniel to their car. “You go with that, Gunnar.”

  They waved as the car meandered up the driveway, and then Gunnar turned her around, cradling her head against his chest. He kissed her forehead, then slid his hands up to her cheeks as he pulled back to look into her eyes.

  “So…just one thing you should know about being part of this family.”

  “Okay?” She braced for something sweet and romantic that would further undo her.

  “Listen carefully. I’m telling you this because I love you. It’s important.”

  “I’m listening.” Lexi made her voice serious, but rolled her eyes.

  “One rule here, okay? There is no—and I mean absolutely no—karaoke singing allowed. None. Ever.”

  She laughed. “Well, there’s just one thing you should know.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Yup. Remember Lexi 3.0?”

  “Maybe?” He cringed, even while he smiled.

  “She totally sings.”

  To my brothers

  For their strength, for their courage

  And for their love

  I’m so excited to kick off three more Whisper Creek books with Unlucky in Love, and am incredibly honored and humbled to thank the following people for their assistance with this book:

  My editor, Sarah Murphy—for her generosity, her sweet savviness, and her keen editorial eye. It was an honor to work with you on this book.

  My agent, Courtney Miller-Callihan—a steady, sparkling rock in a swirling sea.

  The entire Loveswept team, for the gorgeous cover, the fabulous book-love, and for helping me bring Whisper Creek to life.

  My critique partner and cheerleader extraordinaire, Jennifer Brodie—for just being indescribably awesome. Always.

  My bunnies—for five amazing years of what-ifs.

  My family—for, quite simply, everything.

  BY MAGGIE MCGINNIS

  Whisper Creek Series

  Accidental Cowgirl

  A Cowboy’s Christmas Promise

  Once Upon a Cowboy

  Unlucky in Love

  PHOTO: GEOFF MCLOUGHLIN

  MAGGIE MCGINNIS is the author of Once Upon a Cowboy, A Cowboy’s Christmas Promise, Accidental Cowgirl, and Driving Without a License, which was a finalist for Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart Award. A former high school English teacher, an accomplished musician, and a certifiable pen addict, she lives in New England with her family.

  maggiemcginnis.com

  Facebook.com/​MaggieMcGinnisAuthor

  @Maggie_McGinnis

  Read on for a sneak peek of the next book in Maggie McGinnis’s Whisper Creek series:

  Meant to Be

  Available from Loveswept

  Chapter 1

  Shelby eyed the funeral buffet, wondering what the tabloids would say if she took the tablecloth and gave it a big yank right now…wondering what all of that fine bone china would sound like as it shattered on the marble floor.

  She thought it might make a very satisfying noise, actually.

  “My father despised caviar,” she said.

  “The guests expect it.” Nicola patted her carefully on the arm, like she was crystal with a fatal crack.

  Shelby turned around, taking in the sea of black suits, black dresses, sparkling jewelry, red—oh, so red—lipsticks. It all hurt her eyes, and not just because she’d been crying for days.

  Conversation was muted, and servers darted skillfully between little groups of people, doling out champagne and crudités while they gathered empty glasses. Half the crowd had left from the church. Another quarter had fled straight from the cemetery. This remaining group of two hundred people apparently considered themselves family.

  “Daddy would hate this,” she whispered, her chin qu
ivering like she was five years old. “Please tell them to leave.”

  “I wish I could. I really do. But we need to let people pay their respects.”

  “Why? They didn’t lose him. I did.” Shelby knew the words sounded childish and illogical, but that didn’t help her rein them in.

  “They’re just trying to show their support for you.”

  “Bullshit. They’re just trying to be seen.”

  “Shelby.” Her assistant-slash-publicist’s eyes widened as she took Shelby’s elbow and guided her to a corner of the enormous great room. Of all the spots in their Nashville mansion, Daddy had hated this one most. He’d preferred his music room, with the big cushy couches, coffee stains on the tables, and windows that looked out toward nothing but grass and trees. “You can do this. Just another hour, and we’ll be finished.”

  “I don’t know these people, Nicola.” Shelby eyed the crowd as they stood in their funeral best. Had most of them even known his music? Had they known him? They were in his house. They were looking at personal family portraits on the walls. They were eating, talking, smiling…laughing.

  Laughing.

  The center of her world was gone, and they were laughing.

  Prickles crept up her spine, and she braced herself for the cold wash of panic that inevitably followed. For a full week now, when she hadn’t been sobbing, she’d been shivering. She was a twenty-six-year old woman swimming through a fog of managers and publicists and fans, but she’d never felt more like an abandoned child.

  Her father’s real inner circle had stood close by at the funeral home last night. They’d called and texted and visited his house when she’d arrived. They’d closed ranks and held tissues and rubbed her back as she’d cried and vomited and screeched at the television, which just wouldn’t stop showing photos of the wreckage of his plane…wouldn’t stop circling the COUNTRY MUSIC LEGEND DEAD banner along the bottom.

  They’d left after the graveside service because they knew how to show respect. And it wasn’t by standing around in a house he never wanted, in a room decorated by an expensive designer, eating fish eggs and drinking bubbly wine he never would have touched.

  Shelby closed her eyes as the din of conversation grew louder. The caterers had moved furniture every which-way to make room for the food tables, and the clack of heels on marble was giving her a migraine.

  “I’m going upstairs to lie down,” she said, but before she could turn toward the stairway, Nicola grabbed her arm.

  “Not yet.”

  “Why not?”

  Nicola took a deep breath. “Because you need to be seen.”

  “Why? Why do I need to be seen?”

  “You just…do, okay? Trust me on this.”

  Shelby set her jaw at Nicola’s tone, even while internally, she knew her assistant was right. She’d been giving Shelby orders for days now. Hell, she’d been doing it since Shelby’s sixteenth birthday. She was good at it.

  And what was Shelby good at? Taking those orders. Playing the game. Dressing up in glitter when she’d rather be in denim. Rocking to a pop beat when a country twang filled her bones instead. Singing to a stadium of strangers when all she’d wanted was her guitar, some friends, and a roadside coffeehouse.

  And Daddy.

  Yes, she’d played other peoples’ games for ten years. She could do it now.

  “That’s my girl.” Nicola smiled, sensing a break in the ice as she pretended to wipe away a tear from Shelby’s cheek.

  Obviously someone from the press was watching. Nicola always knew where they were.

  Shelby took a deep breath and turned back toward the crowd. “Thirty minutes. And then they have to go. I swear, Nic. I’ll start throwing things.”

  “Now honey.” Nicola tucked a hair behind her ear. “You’re not that girl. Come on. Let’s go talk to Graham Foster from Orion. We need to thank him for coming.”

  Nicola took her hand, and like a marionette, Shelby followed. It was easier that way. Always had been. And when Nicola introduced her to the producer as Tara Quinn, she just smiled and shook his hand. It was the stage name they’d given her at sixteen, when they’d decided her real name sounded too country.

  And when he tried to hide his knowledge of how badly her latest album had tanked, the chills had begun creeping upward again.

  But this time, she couldn’t tamp them back down.

  —

  Two hours later, Shelby tiptoed downstairs, drawn by the clanking of dishes and cutlery. The guests had left, Nicola right on their heels, and finally, after hours of chaos, the only other humans left in this cavernous house were the caterers.

  She stepped into the great room, where champagne flutes were being boxed and carried out the back door. The buffet table still had a stack of unused china on it, and when a server headed for the table, she put up a hand.

  “Please. Could you leave those?”

  “Ma’am?” He tipped his head, confused.

  “The dishes. And the tablecloth. Could you please…leave them?” She heard the tinge of panic in her voice, but couldn’t make it go away. “I’ll pay. Whatever they cost, just bill me.”

  “Are you sure? We’re supposed to take down the tables.”

  “I’ll have them returned to you. I just need this to be over with. Please.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He looked at her for a long moment, and she was struck by how the silver strands in his hair reminded her of Daddy’s. “I’m sorry for your loss. I was a big fan of your father.”

  And then they were gone, rounded up by a silent signal, and Shelby was left to stare at what was left. One table, five china plates, four crystal flutes.

  She walked toward the table, drawn like a heroine in a horror film, and she lifted a corner of the cloth. She let it slide between her thumb and forefinger, felt the high thread count, appreciated the intricate, tiny design woven into the fibers. She picked up one of the plates, marveling at how the sunset’s light almost shone through its delicate porcelain shell, a muted rainbow where there was no rain but her tears. She set it down carefully on its pile—wondering, wishing, wanting.

  And then she took the tablecloth in both hands and gave a mighty yank.

  She’d been right.

  It did make a very satisfying sound.

  —

  “You want me to babysit a celebrity?” Cooper Davis looked up from the trail ride schedule he was working on in the Whisper Creek tack room. The Montana sunrise was seeping through the barn windows, and usually, this was his favorite time of day.

  “Not babysit, so much. More like—you know—be a buddy sort of thing.” Kyla Driscoll, one of the owners of the ranch, had just sashayed into the barn with her ever-present clipboard, and Cooper’s stomach had sunk as he’d realized he must be one of the checkboxes on today’s list. “And I didn’t say she was a celebrity.”

  “You didn’t say she wasn’t.”

  Kyla sighed. “Fine. Yes, she’s a celebrity, but I’m sure she’s very nice.”

  “No offense, Kyla, but you assume everybody’s very nice.”

  “Only until they prove otherwise.” Kyla tipped her head. “You might try a little of that optimism someday.”

  Cooper frowned. His optimism bone had been shaved thin by years of human razors, but that was his problem. He knew it was unfair to make it hers.

  “I’ll work on it.” He rolled his eyes. “But in the meantime, maybe we assign Miss USA to one of the other guys?”

  “Sorry. You already pulled the short straw. She’s yours.”

  “How did I—there were no—what?”

  She smiled. “You’re the perfect guy for the job. So? I gave you the job. And really? You shouldn’t complain. I took you off the guest schedule for an entire month. You get to move into Buttercup, put your feet up, and make nice with a celebrity. You scored prime real estate, along with a cushy assignment. All the other guys will be jealous.”

  “I scored a honeymoon cabin.” He raised his eyebrows. “I think our def
initions of prime real estate might be a little different.”

  “You’re missing the part about hanging with a celebrity.”

  “I don’t like celebrities.”

  “You haven’t met this one.”

  “Neither have you. Why is she coming here, anyway?”

  Kyla’s smile fell a little. “I’m not entirely sure. Her assistant was a little vague.”

  “Well, that doesn’t scare me at all.”

  “I know.” She put a hand on his arm. “But I think she was just trying to maintain privacy. Sounds like maybe something happened, and she needs some time to be out of the limelight.”

  Cooper fought to keep his eyes from rolling again. In his more recent experience with pseudo-celebrity, something happened was kind of a broad area of possibility.

  “What do we know about this woman?” He put down the list he’d been perusing, crossing his arms. “Because something happened is a pretty big red flag, don’t you think?”

  The cowboy in him didn’t necessarily question the idea of a celebrity going under the radar in Big Sky country. The ex-cop in him, however, had a lot of questions.

  “Is she coming here to dry out? Hide from the authorities? Lose a stalker?”

  Kyla shook her head. “You can put your hackles down, officer. It’s none of the above. She just needs a month of peace and quiet to help her get her head together.”

  “A month…and a buddy.”

  She grinned. “Exactly.”

  “Did she ask for one?”

  “No. That part is my idea. I’m putting her in the Periwinkle cottage, right next door to yours.”

  He closed his eyes in pain. “So you’re moving me to a honeymoon cabin—alone—where I will spend a month sitting on my ass waiting for Miss America to decide she needs company?”

  “I’m not sure I envisioned it exactly like that. And maybe you could stop calling her Miss…Whatever?”