One Hot Cowboy Wedding

by Carolyn Brown

  Jasmine repeated with a heavy dose of guilt.

  The preacher turned to Ace. “Repeat after me.”

  Ace repeated without a single bit of guilt.

  “Rings?”

  Ace dug in his pocket and brought out a set of matching plain gold bands he’d picked up at the Walmart jewelry counter on his way to the airport. He handed them to the preacher who blessed them and told everyone in the chapel their meaning before he handed the smaller one to Ace.

  “Repeat after me as you put this on her finger. With this ring…”

  “With this ring…” Ace said.

  Jasmine kept expecting lightning to zip down through the cathedral ceiling, shatter the crystal chandelier, and fry poor old Ace deader’n a roadkill skunk for vowing things he had no intention of doing.

  The preacher handed her the larger gold band. “Jasmine, you repeat after me as you put this ring on Ace’s third finger.”

  “With this ring…” She slipped the ring on his finger.

  Her chest constricted like a two-hundred-pound sack of potatoes had been slammed against it. Maybe God and all the angels had long since given up on Las Vegas and let Lucifer have it.

  “And now I pronounce you husband and wife. Mr. and Mrs. Ace Riley. Go forth and be happy! But first, Ace, you may kiss your bride.”

  Jasmine looked up and he looked down into her aqua-colored eyes. She hadn’t planned on this part. The preacher would say they were husband and wife and that would be that. But from the look in Ace’s sexy eyes, he was going to seal the deal with a real kiss.

  She shut her eyes and moistened her lips. Lights started flashing and wedding music began playing, this time louder than before and with lots more jazz. Lord, a kiss had never affected her like that before.

  Holy shit! That wasn’t supposed to happen! Jasmine thought.

  But when she opened her eyes, it wasn’t just the sparks of a kiss setting off music and stars. All the people in the church were holding cameras and talking all at once. Someone with a video camera and a microphone on a long stick shoved chairs to one side so they could get closer. Red dots danced in front of Jasmine’s eyes and she wondered if it was the result of flashes and bright lights or if Ace was really that damn good at kissing.

  “Hells bells, Ace, does this come with the package too?” she asked.

  “I have no idea what this is all about,” he said.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Ace Riley from Ringgold, Texas, you are the winners! You are the five thousandth couple to get married in my chapel,” the preacher announced in a booming voice full of excitement. “We’ve been advertising for weeks and you’ve won the prize! Today is mine and Harriett’s twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, so it’s perfect.”

  Cameras seemed to light up the whole state of Nevada and suddenly the preacher’s perpetual smile made sense. He wanted to look good for the cameras. He had his arm thrown around Harriet and they were posing for pictures.

  He talked out the side of his mouth as the flashes kept going off from different directions. “This service will be credited back to your charge card. The prize includes a limo for the rest of the evening complete with champagne and the honeymoon suite at the Bellagio where dinner will be served in your room. Keep smiling. I’m a lucky man that you are both so photogenic. Your picture will look beautiful in my foyer and in the morning papers.”

  A reporter shoved a microphone near Jasmine’s face. “Why did you come to Vegas to get married?”

  She swallowed hard but nothing came to mind other than shhh, it’s a secret.

  “It’s so romantic,” she said.

  “And we only had the weekend so we wanted to plan a short honeymoon as well as a wedding,” Ace said.

  “I hope to hell this never goes any further than a picture in the foyer,” she whispered to Ace.

  Someone yelled from the back of the chapel, “How long have you known each other?”

  Ace hugged Jasmine up to his side. “A long time. We were friends first and we fell in love.”

  He tipped her hat back, kissed her again for the cameras, and whispered, “Play along. We get the honeymoon suite and a limo. And it’s just a local contest thing.”

  A petite lady in a cute blue suit with a multitude of support cameras asked, “When are you going back to Texas?”

  Ace ran a hand through his blond curly hair, then settled his Stetson on his head. “We have to fly home tomorrow. So if y’all will let us get on with our honeymoon, we’d be much obliged.”

  Jasmine turned around when one of the reporters asked, “Isn’t she the doctor that plays on that television show House?”

  Another one answered before she could assure them that she was not a movie star, “No, that’s not Cuddy, but she does look like her. Hey, Mrs. Riley, are you any kin to Cuddy on House?”

  Jasmine shook her head. She couldn’t see a bit of resemblance. It must be the full mouth and the dark, shoulder-length hair. Nothing else looked a bit like the television actress.

  “Well, she’s damn sure got an ass like Cuddy,” another one said.

  Jasmine shot him her best drop-dead-go-to-hell-do-not-pass-go look.

  “Okay, guys, make an aisle for the bride and groom so they can get on with their honeymoon. Thank you for accepting my invitation to be here for this momentous occasion tonight,” the preacher said.

  They separated for the newlyweds but kept shooting picture after picture. So many lights went off when Ace scooped Jasmine up in his arms that she saw big red streaks behind her eyelids. The limo was waiting and the driver opened the door when he saw them coming.

  “Who is that?” a lady in a long white dress asked the man in a tuxedo beside her as they were going into the chapel.

  The groom answered, “Must be movie stars or something for that much publicity. I told you we were getting married at the right chapel.”

  Ace put Jasmine inside the limo and then crawled in beside her. One reporter stuck his head in the door and held up a small recorder. “Have you ever been in a limo before?”

  “Limo? Honey, this is a limo! I’ll be damned. I thought it was that Pallatio suite that preacher man was talkin’ about,” Jasmine said in her best Texas redneck drawl. “I’ll be damned, Ace. This is just the car. Wonder what that other place is?”

  Ace guffawed. “I think it’s Bell-a-gio, darlin’, not Pal-la-tio. It’s a fancy hotel.”

  “Well, how about that? Are you going with us?” she asked the reporter.

  When he started to get inside the limo, the driver quickly shut the door.

  “Damn, Jazzy, you are a hoot!”

  “Hoot nothing. This is a holy mess we’ve gotten ourselves into, Ace! Now what? Does the paparazzi follow us all the way to the hotel? Or do they come right into the honeymoon suite and take pictures of us in our jammies? Dammit! All I brought was boxer shorts and a tank top. If I’d known I got to be a star I’d have bought a black lacy teddy,” Jasmine said.

  “Now you know how the real Cuddy on that television show feels.” Ace laughed. But an instant picture of her in a black lace teddy on a big bed with gold satin sheets started an arousal and he had to think about something else in a hurry or be in misery all the way to the hotel.

  Jasmine shot him a look that said funny was over.

  “Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t do it. And I’ll protect the door of our honeymoon suite like a dragon protectin’ a princess. One thing for sure, darlin’—there ain’t no way that smart-ass lawyer can take my ranch away from me now. We’ve got pictures and I’ll buy whatever newspaper the article is in tomorrow morning about us winning the prize. Who would’ve thought we’d fall into a deal like this? Right now I’m telling the limo driver our first stop is our hotel to get all our things. We’ve got luxury waiting at the Bellagio. Champagne first?”

  He removed a bottle from the ice and held it up.

  She nodded. She damn sure needed something to calm her nerves.

  He poured two flutes and handed her one. “To
a happy marriage, Jazzy.”

  She touched her glass to his. “And to a happier divorce.”

  Chapter 2

  The suite was stunning. The king-sized bed faced a wall of glass windows with a view of Las Vegas night lights. The seating area included a big-screen plasma television, a fully stocked mini-bar, comfortable furniture, and thick, plush carpet.

  Jasmine tossed her hat on the bed, kicked off her shoes, and sunk her feet into the carpet. “Thank God that’s over.”

  “You didn’t even look at the fancy digs. You’ve been here before.” Ace removed his jacket and hung it in the mirror-fronted closet.

  “Your jaw didn’t drop either, so you’ve been here too. Right?” she asked.

  “I’ve been in Vegas for the Professional Rodeo several times, and yes, I’ve been here,” he said.

  “But you didn’t book a room here for your wedding, which tells me that you didn’t book the room the time you were here,” she said.

  “I’m not talking about past women on my wedding night, if that’s what you are angling for.” He sat down on the sofa and picked up a menu from the glass-topped coffee table. “What would my new bride and best friend like for supper, or is it dinner in a place like this?”

  She sat down beside him. “I’m not a bride in real life. I am your best friend, at least as long as you are a dragon and I’m the princess the rest of the night, and it is supper. You let all those cameras come through the door and I’ll turn into a dragon and you can be the princess.”

  “Never been a drag queen. What color dress do I get to wear if I’m a princess?” he teased.

  “I think apricot taffeta and a corset, or at least a good tight-fittin’ bra.” She giggled. She’d only had two glasses of champagne, but they’d been on an empty stomach.

  Ace kicked off his boots and leaned his head back on the sofa. “I was thinkin’ maybe I’d be a sexy princess and dress in black lace with one of those big floppy hats.”

  His eyelashes fanned out on his cheekbones. Strange, she’d never noticed before how thick they were. His thigh pressed against hers and created another spasm of desire. It was a helluva time to decide that she was attracted to Ace Riley. All those months he’d teased her about a date and she’d held him off. Put him in a fancy motel and her in a wedding dress and suddenly she would like to have wild passionate sex with him? God, what was wrong with her? Hopefully it was a combination of nerves and hunger. Now that the whole thing was over and food would be coming soon, she would get over the craziness.

  He opened his eyes, sat up, and looked at the menu. “So we’ve moved past the drag queen conversation and onto the dinner?”

  “Looks that way.” She moved even closer to study the menu with him.

  There were dozens of women in north central Texas that Ace could order for. Gracie liked chicken fettuccine; Karly, seafood, preferably lobster; Macie, burgers and fries and banana splits afterwards. But he had no idea what Jasmine liked or hated.

  “Steaks. Seafood. Wine list. Beer, imported and local. Appetizers. Sushi,” he rattled off to cover the guilt trip.

  “I don’t want sushi,” Jasmine said.

  “Steaks?”

  “Sounds good. Appetizer of those little pepper poppers,” she said.

  Something hot in her mouth might take her mind off the hot cowboy beside her.

  She hiked up her dress, removed the garter, and slipped it over his hand and up his arm to his bicep. “I won’t go past the barbed wire.”

  “Good, because ain’t no woman going to get under the barbed wire and capture my heart.” He popped the garter and made the mistake of looking at her long legs, stretched from sofa to coffee table. Would those red toenails taste like strawberries? What would they taste like if he dipped them in warm chocolate syrup?

  Stop it, right now! Think about steak. Think about fifty-yard passes. But not Jazzy. She’s only a bride to save the ranch, not because she’s attracted to you, cowboy. If she was, she would have let it be known months ago. This is like the old Western movies when the villain tries to take the farm and the cowboy rides in with his white hat and saves it for the damsel in distress. Only with a twist. I was the cowboy in distress and Jazzy is the cowgirl in the white hat who’s ridden in to save the poor old cowboy. But rest assured, there damn sure won’t be any ridin’ off into the sunset.

  “Medium rare. Baked potato. Salad with ranch dressing and whatever dessert is chocolate and sinful. And don’t forget the pepper poppers,” she said.

  He picked up the phone, ordered, and turned back to find her green eyes locked with his. Something flashed between them like a forked bolt of lightning. She wet her lips like she did at the wedding chapel, and her eyes went soft and unfocused. He was leaning in for the kiss. Hell, he could taste the kiss, and the arousal beginning to put pressure on his zipper was proof that he wanted even more than one kiss, but he drew back at the last minute.

  Jasmine felt cheated and relieved at the same time. Cheated because she really wanted his lips on hers; relieved because he blinked and quickly made an excuse to go to the bathroom. She went to the bedroom side of the wall splitting the room, opened her suitcase, and hurriedly changed from the white dress into boxer shorts and a gray tank top.

  Get the damned thing off and the vibes will go away, she thought.

  She heard the shower running and thought back to the first time she met Ace Riley. He had been one of the first people she’d met at the Chicken Fried when she bought the place and found out that the café was his second home. He often stopped in right about closing time for a hamburger and ate it in the kitchen while he talked about his women problems, his ranch, or his family. When he came in just before closing last Thursday looking like he’d lost his last friend, she’d asked him what was wrong.

  He’d sat down at the prep table and put his head in his hands.

  “Okay, spit it out. Did your best friend die? Oh my God, he did, didn’t he? Please don’t tell me it’s Wil. I’ve got to call Pearl right now.”

  He put out a hand and touched her arm to stop her. “It’s not Wil or any of the O’Donnell brothers. It’s no one. I’m goin’ to lose my ranch, Jazzy.”

  “Foreclosure?” she whispered.

  “Oh, no, I’m not rich but I’ve got money, and the ranch is paid for. My gramps left me everything he had. Cows, bulls, land, house, barns. All of it. I moved my stock and equipment in, kept the best, and sold the rest. He used an old lawyer that was half senile and half alcoholic and I signed all the papers the week after Gramps died. Without reading any of it,” he’d groaned.

  She’d finished grilling a thick hamburger patty, toasted a bun, and put the burger together: mustard, meat patty, tomato, lettuce, pickle slices, and the top bun, added a double handful of chips on the side of the plate, and set it before him without even asking. She knew him so well after a year and a half that she even knew how many pickle slices he wanted on his burger.

  “That wasn’t very smart, I take it?” she asked.

  “No, the lawyer asked me if I understood all of it and I said I did. I’d worked for Gramps for years and knew it was mine when he passed on. We’d talked about it lots of times. I didn’t need to read all that legal jargon.”

  “And what came back to bite you on the butt?”

  He’d bit into the burger without his usual happy “mmmm” noises. “Old lawyer died. His nephew takes over and is closing his files. He reads the will and then calls me to make sure I’m married. When I told him ‘hell no,’ he said I was in big trouble. I have this cousin, not first cousin but second or third. His name is Cole and the small print in the will says that if I’m not married within two years of Gramps’s death, then Cole gets it all, lock, stock, and barrel. That means he gets what I’ve worked for because I sold off a lot of Gramps’s old equipment and the cattle culls, and in the past two years I’ve built the place up.”

  Jasmine replayed the events in her mind while an old rerun of Bones played on television. How did she
miss noticing how sexy his eyes were or how cute his butt was in those old faded Wranglers that day?

  “How long you got?” she’d asked.

  “A week and I don’t even have a girlfriend. And you can bet your sweet ass Cole is gloating. That bastard hates ranchin’ but he hates me even worse because I was Gramps’s favorite. He’s not even a Riley. He’s kin on Granny’s side so he’s a Nelson, and Gramps knew exactly what he was doing. I’d fight a forest fire with nothing but the spit in my mouth to keep Cole from having my ranch.”

  “So a week from today?” she’d asked.

  “That’s it. I might as well start packing.”

  “Where’s Cole from? I haven’t ever met him, have I?”

  “Oh, no! That slimy bastard lives in Dallas and according to what he told the lawyer, the place and everything on it will be sold at auction before the end of summer. I can buy it or get out.”

  “I’ll marry you,” she’d said without a second’s hesitation.

  He’d almost choked. “What did you say?”

  “I said that I’d marry you. You know the story of me and Eddie Jay. I don’t have any intentions of getting married or even involved with anyone for at least a year. I’m on the wagon. How long do you have to stay married before you can get a divorce?”

  “At least a year. Jazzy, a year is a long time,” he said.

  “Depends on what you are doing. We won’t be doing anything different than we are right now. So it’ll go by just as fast if we’re married or if we aren’t. It’s a secret that only you and I will know about. Let’s go to Las Vegas and get married. We’ll bring home a marriage license and give it to the lawyer. Cole can crawl back under his rock and forget about taking your ranch and in a year we’ll get a very quiet divorce,” she’d said.

  It had sounded like a beautiful golden plan at the time. No one other than the lawyer and greedy Cole would even know about the marriage. The lawyer would file the papers and forget about them. Cole could lick his wounds and forget about padding his bank account with the proceeds of the Double Deuce.

  “Are you sure, Jazzy?” Ace had whispered.