Copyright
Copyright © 2012 by Carolyn Brown
Cover and internal design © 2012 by Sourcebooks, Inc.
Cover illustration by Chris Cocozza
Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
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Contents
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
An excerpt from Love Drunk Cowboy
An excerpt from Red’s Hot Cowboy
An excerpt from Darn Good Cowboy Christmas
About the Author
Back Cover
To Charles Brown
With love and thanks for all you do
to make my world run smooth!
Chapter 1
Shhhh! It’s a secret!
That line had run around in Jasmine’s mind all day on a continuous loop. She imagined two little girls playing out on the grassy lawn with their Barbie dolls, and it was a secret where Barbie and Ken were going for supper. Then two middle school girls in her bedroom gossiping about boys, and it was a secret.
Oh, the secrets she and Pearl had shared through the years, and now she had one that she couldn’t share with anyone, not even Pearl.
“No one in Texas is ever going to know. Not even Pearl. I’ll go home and everything will be the same. I’ll wake up Monday morning, open the Chicken Fried Café, and business will go on as usual and by then I’ll forget all about this wedding. It’ll be a secret, alright, but between me and Ace, and no one else will ever know.” She talked to herself as she flopped her suitcase on the hotel bed and unzipped it. Her hands were shaking. A fine bead of moisture covered her upper lip, and second thoughts were about to smother her plumb to death.
She and Ace had taken different flights. He’d flown out of Dallas on Friday and gotten their rooms. She’d arrived late Saturday afternoon and caught a taxi to the hotel. It was down to the wire, swim or drown time, red light or green light. Her hands were clammy and sweat was pooling up around the band of her bra. Nervously, she looked at the clock. The hands whipped around so fast that it made her dizzy. Where had the time gone?
She took a quick shower, washed and dried her long, dark hair, and applied makeup. Then it was time to dress. Thank God the plane had been on time or she would have been rushed. She couldn’t have stood a dose of nervous and one of hurry-up at the same time.
The white satin dress fit tightly to the waist with a hem that stopped right above her knee. Filmy illusion was attached to a white Stetson hat in a big bow with the streamers hanging to her waist. It was sprinkled with pearls and edged with lace. The shoes were white satin with beadwork on the high heels. But Jasmine didn’t feel like a bride. She felt like an imposter.
A rapid rat-a-tat-tat on the door said the time was up. She opened the door to find Ace smiling from ear to ear and holding a black Stetson. He was damn sexy in his black Western-cut jacket, creased black Wranglers, and white shirt unbuttoned at the collar. His blond curls were almost tamed with a healthy dose of gel, but a few still escaped to float playfully on his forehead. But then it was common knowledge that Ace Riley was a player, so he would know exactly how to dress, how to swagger, how to use that Texas drawl, and how to smile to attract the women.
He braced an arm against the doorjamb and let his gray-blue eyes slowly scan her from high heels to Stetson. That didn’t surprise Jasmine either. Flirting came as natural to Ace as breathing. The first thing he did when he walked into the café was scope it out for new skirt tails; the second was turn on the charm.
“Whew! You clean up pretty damn good, Jazzy.” His sexy Texas drawl was deep, and his words came out slow. Most women melted when he walked through the door and swooned when he opened his mouth. He’d never affected Jasmine that way, not until that moment.
She’d seen him before in dress jeans and crisply ironed shirts but never as fancy as he was that day. Most of the time he came into the café in his scuffed work boots, faded jeans, and shirts with the sleeves cut out; the barbed wire tat around his arm was a constant reminder that he never intended to let a woman anywhere near his heart. A motel bed or her bed, yes, but never his heart or his bedroom.
“Those are two places I’m saving for the love of my life if I ever meet her,” he’d told Jasmine once while he was eating hamburgers in her kitchen.
Jasmine struck a pose for him. “Do I look like a blushing bride? You know you shouldn’t be seeing me before the wedding. It’s bad luck.”
He fanned his face with his black Stetson and whistled through his teeth. “Oh, darlin’, you look every bit the part, and don’t worry about bad luck. We’re in Vegas and no one knows what we’re up to. You know what they say: What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas! We ain’t got a thing to worry about. Shall we go get married?”
She looped her arm into his and pulled the door shut.
The elevator was right across from her room and opened immediately when he pushed the down button. “See, it’s an omen. Nothing bad is going to happen because I saw you in that cute little dress. Besides, the rules are different in Vegas.”
“Oh yeah?” She looked up at him.
“Sure they are. Didn’t you read the rule book in the drawer right beside the Gideon Bible? God, Jazzy, this ain’t your first time in Vegas, is it?”
“Hell, no! I’ve been here before and you are full of shit! There is no rule book in the drawer.” She giggled.
“Did you look? Tell me, did you look in the drawer since you’ve been here this time?”
“Yes, I did,” she lied.
“Well, shit! Someone stole your rule book. Well, on page five, paragraph six, it says that the groom can see the bride on the wedding day and that it will bring them good luck. Paragraph seven says that the only thing they have to be careful with is the blackjack tables. If the bride is wearing her wedding dress, they will lose their money there. So all we have to do is stay away from the blackjack tables. Besides, what bride and groom would spend their time gambling anyway? They’d be rufflin’ up the sheets with some hot-as-hell sex,” Ace said.
“You are full of bullshit, Ace,” she laughed.
The elevator doors slid open and he strutted out with her on his arm. Heads turned as they walked past the blackjack tables, the roulette wheels, and the slot machines. Jasmine sa
w one woman fan herself with the back of her hand, another licked her lips as if she could taste his kisses, and at least two wiggled as if they needed to make a dash to the bathroom and change their underpants.
Ace noticed men with hungry eyes ogling Jazzy as if they’d like to lay her down on satin sheets and peel that tight-fittin’ dress off her slow and easy. Truth was that he was thinking about how those full lips would taste; if that long hair would feel like silk as he tangled it up in his fingers; or how slick those legs would be wrapped around him in a Jacuzzi. He shook his head to knock out the vision and another kinky blond curl fell down on his forehead. He didn’t bother pushing it back. After the wedding he would settle his black Stetson on his head and that would keep the pesky curls away from his eyes.
At the curb, he raised his hand and a taxi pulled right up. “See, more good luck. Elevator right there waiting for us and now a taxi is Johnny-on-the-spot. I tell you this is our night, Miz Jazzy.”
“Okay, I believe you, Ace. Nothing can go wrong, and what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Shhh, it’s a secret.” She held one finger to her lips.
He opened the door and held the streamers from her hat while Jasmine crawled into the backseat and then he followed her.
“Yes, it is a secret. Our secret and we’ll leave it right here, so don’t worry, darlin’,” he whispered.
His warm breath started something boiling down deep in her stomach. But that shouldn’t come as a surprise. She had dated four men in the past year and a half. One of them got past the second date. None of them got further than a good-night kiss.
“Cupid’s Wedding Chapel,” he told the driver.
“I’ll have you there in twenty minutes. Traffic is pretty bad this time of night,” he said.
“We need to be there at seven.” Ace checked his watch. They had fifteen minutes. Dammit! He’d forgotten to figure in traffic. He’d just figured on getting there right at the time, doing the deed, and getting back to the hotel where he would play the slots for a couple of hours and go to bed.
“Then we’ll take a short cut. Hang on to your hats.”
“What happens at the chapel?” Jazzy asked.
“I bought a package deal. Pictures. Bouquet for you. License in a cute little folder with a seal on the front and the ceremony. The lawyer said to bring him a valid marriage license, but I’m taking pictures so Cole can see it was a real wedding. I appreciate you getting all dressed up, Jazzy,” he said softly.
She punched his arm playfully. “What are friends for?”
He grinned. “God knows I don’t want you to back out, but I wouldn’t blame you, and we’d still be friends if you are about to change your mind.”
She shook her head emphatically. “Hell, no! That sumbitch Cole isn’t getting the farm. But I do have one question, Ace. How is it that he won’t be tellin’ the whole family anyway?”
Ace graced her with his brightest smile. “Ranch, darlin’. Not farm.”
“Okay, let’s put it this way: That sumbitch Cole ain’t gettin’ your Texas dirt whether you grow potatoes or Angus calves,” she said.
He chuckled. “I like the part about sumbitch Cole, and I’ll stick to Angus. And I’ll explain the Cole situation to you after the wedding. Don’t worry. He won’t tell a soul about the ranch if he doesn’t get it.”
The taxi pulled up in front of a sweet little white chapel and parked behind a long, white limo with a driver standing at attention beside it. Ace gave the driver a bill. Jasmine scooted out of the taxi. She hadn’t planned on moving so much in the tight-fitting dress when she bought it the previous spring. It was supposed to be worn to a personal shower for a friend, but they’d changed their minds, decided to have the shower at a honky tonk, and everyone wore jeans. It had hung in her closet until that morning when she went looking for something to wear to her wedding.
Ace tucked her arm into his again. “Love the hat thing,” he said.
“Spur of the moment. Pearl was going to use it for her wedding and Tess pitched a fit, so she told me to do something with it. It’s my something borrowed,” she said.
“What’s blue?”
She hooked a finger under her skirt tail, raised it a notch, and showed him a blue garter.
“Old?”
“Bra and underpants.” She giggled.
“New? The dress?” Ace asked.
“Yes, it is. Never worn, so it’s still new,” she said.
“Then we’ve got it covered.” He slung an arm around her shoulder. It wasn’t the first time Ace had hugged her or even walked across the café floor with his arm around her, so why did steamy little hot tingles dance up and down her spine?
The door opened at the exact time they stepped through the archway onto the porch, and a smiling woman motioned them inside. “You’d be Ace and Jasmine. You are right on time. I’m Harriett and I’ll be acting as your wedding planner tonight. My, don’t you both look beautiful.”
Ace cleared his throat.
Harriett laughed. “Handsome, then. Does that work better for you, cowboy?”
“Yes, ma’am, it surely does.”
She picked up a nosegay of red roses with streaming satin ribbons that matched the roses perfectly. “Hold them at waist level and loop your arm though his. It makes for prettier pictures and gives me time to get to the front of the chapel before you start down the aisle so I can get good pictures of you.”
Jasmine nodded. Harriett didn’t look a thing like Marcella, her mother’s cousin and most sought-after wedding planner in Sherman, Texas, but the authority in her voice sure reminded Jasmine of Marcella.
The lady hurried across the small foyer to swing open double doors into a tiny chapel with twenty white folding chairs on each side of the short center aisle. The traditional wedding march started playing softly from speakers attached to the pulpit at the front the moment the doors opened.
Jasmine wondered if they were on a timer—kind of like a clock wired up to a bomb. If so, what detonated the bomb? The words “I do”?
The preacher motioned them forward. Harriet rushed down the aisle in front of them, turned around, and started snapping pictures. Cole wouldn’t have a leg to stand on if he contested the marriage with all the pictures the woman took between the back of the chapel and the pulpit.
Jasmine was amazed to see that the chapel was completely full of people but figured they must be waiting for the next wedding, the one with the bride and groom waiting in the white limo out front. She wondered if they were movie stars or celebrities who had snuck off from Hollywood for a quickie marriage, and if the people in the audience were paparazzi from every ragtag gossip paper in the whole country.
They barely made it to the front when the preacher intoned in a loud voice, “We are gathered here this day to unite”—he looked down at the marriage license on the pulpit—“Jasmine King and Ace Riley in holy matrimony… Hand your flowers to Harriett,” he whispered.
Jasmine looked around to find Harriett reaching for the flowers. She laid the bouquet on an empty chair and went back to taking pictures.
“They’ll send them to my computer via email. Be there when we get home. I wasn’t expecting so many, though,” Ace whispered.
The preacher went on, “Now, Ace, take her hands in yours and face each other.”
When they were facing each other the preacher smiled and a flash went off behind Jasmine. These people really took the business of quickie marriages seriously.
“In this time-honored tradition of a wedding ceremony, Jasmine and Ace have come before me to repeat their vows to each other and to exchange rings. If there is anyone who has a reason they shouldn’t be married, please step forward now and state your cause or forever hold your peace.”
He paused for a minute, wiped his sweaty face with a white handkerchief pulled from behind the oak pulpit, and used both hands to slick back his thick black hair. The smile never left his face, and Jasmine heard several clicks behind her. Surely, those crazy people didn’t think
she and Ace were the celebrities. Granted, she’d been asked before if she was kin to Dr. Cuddy on House. Maybe she should stop the wedding and tell them that the real celebrities were hiding in the limo outside, and they were wasting their batteries on a cowboy and a café owner from Ringgold, Texas, population less than a hundred.
“No one to protest?” the preacher asked again.
Jasmine bit back a giggle. Her four best friends, Liz, Pearl, Austin, and Gemma, would be stampeding through the chapel like a herd of longhorn heifers if they had any inkling what was going on that minute. But they didn’t and wouldn’t ever. Maybe someday when they were all sharing a room in a nursing home she’d tell them about the year she was married to Ace Riley. The vision that popped into her head was five old ladies sitting around a domino table. Pearl was the one with lightly frosted, red kinky hair, shooting daggers at the old man winking at them; Austin and Gemma would have gray streaks in their dark hair, but Liz, gypsy that she was, wouldn’t have changed all that much.
“Yes, well, apparently no one wants to object, so we will continue,” the preacher said. His smile was plastered on as if he expected it to get him through the pearly gates of heaven that very night, and the cameras all over the chapel kept up a steady clicking noise.
Jasmine was giddy with nerves over repeating vows right there before a certified preacher, and even God, that she had absolutely no intentions of keeping. Why didn’t he tell those people behind her that they were photographing the wrong wedding and why was he smiling like he’d just won the lottery?
She wasn’t the only one with a case of jitters. Ace was rubbing her palm with his thumb because he couldn’t be still. She wished he’d stop because it was shooting so much sexual energy through her body that she could have jumped him right there in front of the pulpit before the vows were said. The white dress and veil didn’t make her a real bride, but evidently her hormones thought it did. Maybe all brides felt like that when they were about to say vows before a grinning preacher and in front of a bunch of crazy people with cameras.
“Okay, Jasmine, repeat after me,” the preacher intoned.
One Hot Cowboy Wedding Page 1
