The Rodeo Star's Reunion
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Melinda Curtis
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23
PROLOGUE
ON THE MORNING of her best friend’s wedding, Elizabeth “Bess” Glover had the strangest inkling—that at thirty-one, she’d always be a bridesmaid, never a bride. And her chances of becoming one suddenly felt slim-to-none.
Me, an old maid? How had it come to this?
Bess had an active social life. She went to honky-tonks, danced with handsome cowboys and accepted dates. She had a widespread network of friends and sisters who fixed her up, especially when she was a bridesmaid, which had increased in frequency over the past year. Her cowboy prince had yet to arrive. The only thing she hadn’t tried was paying her best friend—Ronnie Pickett, today’s bride and a professional matchmaker—to fix her up.
Bess had her pride, after all. Perhaps more than her share.
She always followed her mama’s advice about looking her best because you never knew when Prince Charming would ride up on a fine piece of horseflesh or drive past in a sports car with hundreds of horses under the hood.
But despite the fact that Bess often dressed like a cowgirl princess and had kissed a lot of frogs...er, cowboy princes, she’d never come close to being a bride. Bess had no one by her side. No partner to rely on when ranch work or bills overwhelmed her. No one to lean on when her high school teaching and coaching overwhelmed her. And lately, a lot overwhelmed her.
And so, on a Sunday morning in February, in Clementine, Oklahoma, Bess was unusually moody—downright tearful even—as she got ready for Ronnie’s wedding to Wade Keller.
Later, Bess also cried in the bridal vestibule at the church. Someone gave her a shot of whiskey from a flask. And whew, that strong alcohol dried up her waterworks. But then she’d spilled silent tears at the altar in her position as the maid of honor while Ronnie recited her vows. And because no one offered her whiskey, Bess had stopped her weepiness by staring at her frenemy, best man Griff Malone. He smiled at her kindly, as if they were more friends than enemies.
He’s single.
Bess barely stopped herself from scoffing. She wasn’t that desperate. Besides, Griff didn’t meet her dating criteria. Yes, he was handsome and smart. Yes, he could be charming and sweet. But he wasn’t trustworthy.
Cross him off the list.
Bess reminded herself that being thirty-one meant she had lots of time to find her special someone. That and staring at the back of Ronnie’s head for the rest of the ceremony had dried her tears. She even managed to make it through most of the wedding and reception without turning on more waterworks.
But now, inexplicably, Bess was feeling weepy after having caught the wedding bouquet.
I’m not a crier.
Bess was more likely to just move on.
But something had her on edge. And it wasn’t her scalp-pulling updo.
Another bridesmaid handed Bess a shot of whiskey. She downed it quickly. It was Oklahoma strong. The burn of alcohol had Bess coughing so much that she missed seeing who caught the garter the groom threw.
A cheer rose in the community center and then a man in a black tuxedo and cowboy boots emerged from the crowd; his light brown hair was unruly without his cowboy hat to mash it down.
Griff.
For a short time, he’d been her dream guy in high school. She’d been drawn to his mischievous smile, his quick wit and deep laugh, his soulful brown eyes and untamable brown hair. He took her sometimes cantankerous nature in stride and smiled good-naturedly when Bess teased that her mother wanted her to marry well—a doctor or lawyer.
Predictably, according to Mama, their relationship had ended, and not at all well.
Fifteen years later, here Griff was, smiling and reaching toward Bess as if he’d just passed the Oklahoma bar exam or finished his medical residency, and had returned to Clementine to claim Bess’s hand in marriage.
I always dreamed of marrying a cowboy.
“Bess?” Griff’s smile didn’t waver.
Bess’s heart urged her to take that hand and smile right back, to pretend they’d returned to square one—flirting, kissing and trusting. Meanwhile, her head urged her to refuse the unreliable cowboy. They’d already danced once as part of the wedding party ritual, during which time Bess had pretended there was no need to be polite and make small talk. She’d stared over Griff’s shoulder, very much aware of his warm hand encompassing hers, his strong arm encircling her waist, his mouth so close. She’d been torn between lifting her face to kiss him or to bicker about something.
She and Griff were good at bickering, friendly or otherwise, and did it on the regular. But it had been a good long while since Bess had been well and thoroughly kissed. Hence her hesitation.
Griff’s smile morphed into a trouble-seeking grin as the DJ began to play a country song about love. Griff waggled the fingers of his extended hand. “Giddy-up, Bess. Folks are waiting for the cake to be cut.”
Giddy-up?
Griff’s cavalier attitude riled Bess more than nostalgia ever could.
She slapped her hand into his. “Let’s get this over with.” Lifting her long, fuchsia skirt with one hand, Bess tugged Griff out on the dance floor with the other. “Keep your mitts where I can see them, cowboy.”
Griff chuckled.
They were joined by the bride and groom.
Just looking at Wade and Ronnie smiling so happily at each other had tears welling in Bess’s eyes once more. They were living their fairy tale.
When will I get mine?
Without meaning to, Bess inched closer to Griff, imagining he was someone she could fall head over heels for, someone who understood her moods, someone Bess could be herself with through good times and bad.
Around the midpoint of the song, Griff lowered his lips to Bess’s ear and whispered, “I know today has been hard on you.” He eased back a smidge, smiling at her softly, tenderly, compassionately. “Don’t cry.”
Bess blinked back stupid tears once more. She didn’t want to cry. Didn’t he know that? Why didn’t Griff grin...or joke...or...or bicker? Anything but show her empathy and kindness.
“We’ve got two more weddings to get through together this summer.” Griff gathered Bess more securely into his arms. “Always a bridesmaid to my groomsman, Bess. Lean on me. What’s the worst that can happen if you do? People assuming we’re dating?”
People assuming...? Bess stiffened. Of all the nerve.
Her tears dried up. There was nothing as annoying or invigorating as sparring with Griff.
“Today hasn’t been hard,” she said through gritted teeth. “I’m so happy for Ronnie and Wade that I’m tearful. I’ll be so happy that I’ll probably cry for Abby and Nate, and Crystal and Derrick, too.” The summer brides were Bess’s work friends, teachers with Bess at Clementine High School.
“I’ve never known you to cry when you’re happy, Bess.” Those lips of Griff’s moved closer to her ear until his warm breath wafted on her sensitive skin, eliciting a delicious, unwanted shiver. “But if that’s the case and you want to cry some more, go ahead.”
“Cry some more?” Bess jolted her shoulders back and lifted her gaze to his, to that handsome face and tender smile. “You think I want everyone to see me cry some more? You don’t understand me at all. In fact, you make me want to...”
Kiss you.
Her eyes widened.
“What?” Griff stared down at Bess. His unmanageable brown hair begged to be touched. His tuxedo was a snug fit across broad shoulders that looked like they could carry any burden. He moved in perfect time to the music.
Just like my fairy-tale cowboy.
The man she’d once told Mama she was going to marry one day.
Of course, she’d been six. And, of course, Mama had reminded her that doctors and lawyers didn’t have to muck out stalls or feed the chickens. Mama, having been Miss Teenage Oklahoma, wasn’t keen on the ranch life. And that had been the last time Bess mentioned fairy-tale cowboys to her family.
“Bess?” Griff’s voice was filled with concern.
Bess stared up at Griff, at the handsome man who suddenly didn’t look like her frenemy. Why couldn’t she turn off this confusing, conflicted attraction to him?
It’s the tuxedo.
Mostly, Griff went around town in his ranch duds—worn blue jeans, worn boots, a threadbare button-down or stained T-shirt. But now... Tonight... Griff looked the way she’d imagined he’d appear on the night of the high school prom. The night he’d stood her up and lost her trust.
A tangle of emotions welled inside her—hurt, annoyance, melancholy, exasperation—bubbling like a pot about to boil over.
Bess stepped out of Griff’s arms and marched off the dance floor in her fancy dress and her fancier heels, weaving her way through dinner tables until she reached the door separating the large hall from the lobby. There, she turned. Caught Griff’s eye. And then pushed her way out the door, not thinking about what she was doing or what challenge she was throwing down. She just needed to fume, to move, to...to act out without an audience.
Bess crossed the lobby of the community center, running, lifting her long skirt slightly to avoid tripping in her high heels. She pushed out the door and into the cold February night, needing space, needing action, needing...
“Bess?” Surprisingly, Griff wasn’t far behind her. His cowboy boots struck a quick cadence on the sidewalk as he followed her toward the building’s corner.
Bess rounded that corner and pressed her back to the brick wall, breathing heavy.
What am I doing? What am I doing? What am I doing?
She had no idea. Her heart pounded and her head pounded and when Griff rounded the corner, she yanked him into her arms and kissed him.
It wasn’t a young, tentative kiss, like the ones they’d shared in high school for a few weeks.
It wasn’t a first-date kiss, where they were figuring things out and finding out where they fit together.
It was a kiss filled with frustration—over lost dreams, over lost opportunities, over the decreasing chance of ever finding her happily-ever-after.
“Bess,” Griff murmured against her lips.
What am I doing? What am I doing?
What. Am. I. Doing?
The wrong thing.
Bess came to her senses. She thrust Griff away.
And then she ran back inside the community center and pretended for the rest of the reception that Griff Malone didn’t exist.
