A Secret Christmas Wish
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Cathy McDavid
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15,2K
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19
CHAPTER ONE
STARING AT AN attractive cowboy across the way while on a date with someone else probably wasn’t considered good manners. Maia MacKenzie imagined her mother rolling her eyes and announcing she’d raised her youngest daughter better than that.
But, Maia rationalized, this wasn’t a real date. Yes, technically she’d arrived with the man sitting to her left. And, like all the guests at Wishing Well Springs wedding barn, she waited for the familiar strains of “Here Comes the Bride.” But at the end of the reception, they’d part ways and never hear from one another again.
Her date—Kenny Haselhoff, she reminded herself—seemed nice, if a bit nervous. She sent him her best you’ve-got-this smile. He fidgeted in response, his knee bobbing up and down.
According to the bio she’d been provided, Kenny worked as a project manager for a large flooring company, liked to golf and jog, was a newly divorced father of two and had season tickets to the Arizona Cardinals games. In the story outline he’d created, they’d been seeing each other for the past two months and weren’t yet serious.
In truth, Maia had just met Kenny for the first time thirty minutes ago. In the rear parking lot of Payson Feed and Hay, of all places. He’d chosen the discreet location, insisting they not be glimpsed by anyone attending his cousin’s nuptials. As Maia had learned this past year working for Your Perfect Plus One, people were funny when it came to weddings. They had no problems going solo to any other activity. Nightclubs. Parties. Sporting events. Movies. But somehow, arriving alone at a wedding screamed loser with a capital L.
Which explained why her older sister’s wedding-and-event-date company had doubled in size since opening and why Maia was busy most weekends. Weddings were big business in this tourist town. More than ever since Wishing Well Springs had opened its doors. Getting hitched or hosting a family reunion in a glamorously rustic barn with an adorable Western-themed miniature town next door appealed to a lot of people. Particularly over the holidays.
Personally, Maia wouldn’t want to get married on Thanksgiving eve, but to each their own. The turkey with all the fixings dinner reception at Joshua Tree Inn next door did promise to be delicious. She had that to look forward to at least.
Her gaze traveled again to the attractive cowboy in the pew across the aisle. He looked vaguely familiar, though not in an I-know-you way. More like an I’ve-seen-you-somewhere way. Hmm. Maybe his name would come to her before the end of the wedding.
“Who are you looking at?” Kenny whispered.
Caught off guard, Maia swallowed a groan. Busted. She was here as his date and a representative of Your Perfect Plus One. He was entitled to her undivided attention for the duration of the wedding and reception.
She pinned a pleasant expression on her face and turned toward him, vowing to do better. It was unlike her to slip. She prided herself on her four-point-eight-star client-satisfaction rating.
“The decorations,” she murmured. “They’re lovely.”
She wasn’t lying. Not about that. The wedding barn had been transformed to reflect the fall season and Thanksgiving. Shades of gold, orange, yellow, deep browns and reds abounded. At the end of each pew hung a cluster of tiger lilies tied with a satin ribbon. On the table behind the altar, a festive array of pumpkins, gourds and dried rainbow corncobs spilled from a wicker cornucopia flanked by vases holding enormous bouquets of fall flowers. Multicolored dried oak leaves were scattered on the carpet leading to the altar, left there by the flower girl.
The effect was magical. Maybe Maia would consider a Thanksgiving wedding after all.
“When I introduce you to my cousin,” Kenny said, “don’t forget to say we met at a golf tournament where you drove me around in the VIP van.”
His nerves were showing again.
“I won’t.”
Maia wasn’t sure about the necessity of adding a VIP van to the story. But whatever. Her job was to go along with the role the client chose for her. Many of which were far removed from her often-boring real life as a hardworking single mom to a young toddler. On some of her more memorable wedding dates, she’d been a cemetery-plot salesperson, a phlebotomist, a fish-hatchery technician and a travel blogger. That last one had been something she wouldn’t mind trying in real life. The traveling part.
Your Perfect Plus One was not a matchmaking service and certainly not a hire-for-the-evening service. Maia’s assignments lasted only for the wedding and reception or event, during which she’d sit beside her date, show interest in him and engage in friendly, casual conversation with the other guests. She’d leave at the end with people convinced he’d found a nice gal. What he told his friends and family later about their fictitious breakup wasn’t her concern.
Music started, and everyone shifted as one to watch the bride and her father proceed down the aisle. A small lump formed in Maia’s throat. It happened every time, regardless if she knew the couple or not. Something about witnessing the happiest day of two people’s lives brought out her sentimental side.
The moment was also a small reminder of her own thwarted wedding. She no longer pined for her former fiancé. Hardly! She more often wanted to boot him from here to the next county for all but ignoring their son. But she’d once almost been this stunning bride, and the memory strummed those tender heartstrings.
After the ceremony, the newlyweds practically floated down the aisle. They were followed by the wedding party and close family members. One by one, the pews emptied. When their turn came, Kenny took Maia’s arm.
“This okay?” he whispered.
“Of course.” She smiled. “I’m looking forward to meeting your family.”
Minimal, appropriate and respectful touching was allowed. Also dancing. Again, respectfully. Only once had Maia’s date gotten a little handsy with her. She’d politely and firmly reminded him of the client contract terms, and he’d backed off. He’d even given her and the company a glowing review. Good thing. A bad review could reflect negatively on her sister’s fledgling business.
Outside, Maia listened with half an ear while Kenny chatted about both the fun and trouble he and his cousin had gotten into as teenagers. She couldn’t shake the sensation that someone was staring at her. As she and Kenny entered the receiving line, she glanced behind them—and immediately locked eyes with the attractive cowboy. He grinned.
Wow! He’d donned a tan Stetson that showed off his navy Western-cut suit and emphasized his ruggedly handsome features.
She spun back around, her insides fluttering and her cheeks growing warm.
“You ready?” Kenny said as they took another step forward.
What? Right. The receiving line. “Yes.”
Focus, she reminded herself. She had a job to do and company policies to uphold. No flirting or romantic fraternizing with any of the guests topped the list. That would be the end of her lucrative part-time job, and she needed the extra money. Winning the Diamond Cup without a new competition saddle would be difficult, and they didn’t come cheap.
Besides, the cowboy was with somebody. Maia had caught sight of a turquoise dress and blond hair. His wife or girlfriend, no doubt.
Steeling herself, she silently counted to ten and smiled at Kenny. “Sounds like you two had a great childhood.”
He looked at her strangely. “I was talking about my dog.”
Was he?
“Murphy. My goldendoodle.”
Maia nodded. “Your cousin gave him to you as a puppy.”
“His mom did. My aunt. For my kids.”
She ground her teeth together. What was the matter with her? She normally didn’t botch dates.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I won’t mess up again. I promise.”
And she didn’t. When the receiving line advanced, and they greeted the bride and groom, she offered a warm handshake, made the appropriate comment about where she and Kenny had supposedly met—which earned him a fist pump from his cousin, the groom—and, lastly, expressed her very best wishes for the newlyweds.
“Thanks,” Kenny said in a low voice once they’d moved away.
“Did I pass?” she joked.
“With flying colors.”
They gathered in front of the wedding barn with the other guests milling beneath the yellow, orange and green crepe-paper bells strung in the branches overhead. Maia slipped into the velvet wrap she’d been carrying. Payson could turn cold in late November. Rain wasn’t uncommon. Today, the elements had cooperated and gifted the newlyweds with unseasonably mild weather to go with a shimmering blue sky.
She and Kenny made small talk while they waited. To be honest, Kenny did most of the talking with Maia chiming in now and then and always sticking to the script. A few times, the cowboy drifted into her line of vision. She diligently avoided eye contact.
Okay, maybe not that diligently. The petite blonde clung to the cowboy’s arm, her grip borderline possessive. Funny, mused Maia, they didn’t look like they belonged together. Not that a person could tell from appearances. But they gave off an undeniable vibe of being mismatched.
“You simply must check out the miniature Western town around the corner,” a middle-aged woman in Maia’s circle commented.
“It’s adorable,” she replied. “I love the jail and the general store.”
The woman’s glance flitted between Maia and Kenny. “I thought Kenny said you were running late and didn’t have a chance to see it.”
Beside her, Kenny tensed.
“I...um...” Oops. Maia thought fast. “I attended a friend’s wedding here this past summer.”
She’d actually attended six weddings here during the last year, not to mention several dozen more at different locations, some as far away as Phoenix. All in the role of a client’s date. Her sister was extremely careful and usually sent Maia on weddings for nonlocals, minimizing the risk she’d be recognized and have some explaining to do.
“Yes,” the woman in her circle agreed. “Wishing Well Springs is very popular.”
Whew! Kenny must have experienced the same relief, for he relaxed.
Not long after that, the bride and groom announced that everyone should head on over to the inn across the way for the reception. They and the rest of the wedding party would be along once they’d finished with the photographer.
Maia and Kenny rode the short distance in his car. He didn’t say much until they were in the parking lot searching for an empty space.
“That went okay,” he conceded.
“I’m sorry I got distracted.”
“Yeah.”
Was he accepting her apology or just acknowledging her admission? She let the subject drop. No sense rehashing her blunder. Better she spend the remaining two hours being the best wedding date possible. Surely in that short amount of time, and in a space the size of the dining room at the inn, she could avoid the cowboy.
She and Kenny met up with some of the other guests during their stroll inside. On a credenza to the right of the dining room entrance, they located their meal tickets and table assignment. He led the way, weaving in and out of the growing throng of people and pausing periodically to say hello to someone.
Midway across the room, he pointed. “There we are. Table eighteen.” After covering the few remaining feet, he pulled out a chair for Maia.
“Thank you,” she said and lowered herself onto the plush cushion.
Removing her wrap, she looked up—right into the compelling hazel eyes of the attractive cowboy sitting directly across from her.
BRENT HAYES HAD arrived in Payson a little before eleven that morning, driving straight through from Tucson where he’d been staying with an old rodeo friend. He’d left at the crack of dawn, pretty sure his friend had been happy to have his couch back after three weeks and not unhappy to see Brent’s truck backing out of his driveway.
He had that effect on people, the last couple of years, anyway. He’d worn out his welcome at more places than he could count, including his mom’s and cousin’s.
In the two hours since he’d hit town, he’d met with the owner of Your Perfect Plus One and completed the required paperwork. He’d taken a preemployment drug test three days earlier while still in Tucson, the same day as his online interview and background check. The drug testing company had forwarded his results to Your Perfect Plus One, and Brent had received the official offer via phone call yesterday.
Are you sure you can handle this? the owner had inquired after giving him a brief orientation and set of instructions.
Yes, ma’am. He’d flashed his winningest grin. I’m a fast learner. I won’t let you down.
I hope not.
By the way, is there somewhere I can change?
She’d escorted him to a dressing room where he traded his jeans and faded work shirt for his one good suit. After that, she’d sent him off with a worried smile, admitting she was in a bind and didn’t have much choice.
Brent had driven straight to the prearranged meeting location where Bobbie-Ann waited. The two of them had then headed to Wishing Well Springs, arriving in plenty of time despite her concerns they’d be late.
She was a talker, which was fine with Brent. He hadn’t expected to know any of the wedding guests except Bobbie-Ann, and had no problem with her taking the lead in their conversations.
Another benefit to sitting quietly was Brent could people watch. It remained a favorite pastime from his days on the rodeo circuit.
The woman with the mink-brown waves and even darker eyes had caught his attention from the second she’d walked into the wedding barn. No denying her prettiness, but it was her animated expressions that had kept him seeking her out. She spoke volumes without saying a word, and he was listening. The guy with her didn’t stand a chance. She clearly wasn’t into him.
Brent and the woman sitting across from each other at the reception had been a stroke of good fortune, and his long-dormant interest was piqued. Not that he’d ditch Bobbie-Ann. No way. Or be less than the attentive and affable companion his job required of him. But his obligation to her extended only until the end of the reception.
“Hi. I’m Bobbie-Ann and this is Brett,” Bobbie-Ann said, greeting the two new arrivals and using the fake name Brent’s new boss had selected for him. “Isn’t that cute? Bobbie-Ann and Brett. We sound like a singing duo. Are you on the bride’s side or the groom’s? She and I roomed together in college.”
“Groom’s,” the guy answered. “He’s my cousin.” He indicated himself and then his companion. “Name’s Kenny and this is Marla.”
“Nice to meet you,” Brent said, speaking to the guy but looking at Marla. Funny. She didn’t look like a Marla.
Introductions continued with their four tablemates, and conversation flowed. The women discussed the wedding ceremony, the bride’s dress, the elaborate multitiered cake in the corner and the newlyweds’ honeymoon plans. The men stuck to sports and Kenny’s new Lexus sedan.
Brent replied when asked a direct question. Otherwise, he listened and fulfilled Bobbie-Ann’s need of the moment—fetching her a drink from the bar, locating her a fresh linen napkin when she dropped hers and making sure the server got their correct meal tickets. In between, he studied Marla.
“We’ve been dating a couple months,” Kenny answered in response to another guest’s question. “We met at a golf tournament. Marla was the VIP driver who took me around.”
“That’s cool,” the young man said.
“Yeah. It is.” Kenny’s gaze went to Marla.
She smiled in return. A platonic smile, though Brent doubted anyone else noticed.
“You must meet a lot of interesting people driving for events,” Brent said.
“Um, no.” Marla shook her head, sending her long brown waves into motion. “I... It was a one-time job. A friend convinced me.” She laid her hand on Kenny’s arm. “Which turned out well for us.”
“What’s your regular nine-to-five?” Brent asked and then gave himself a swift invisible kick when Bobbie-Ann stiffened.
He really needed to keep his mouth shut. Except he hadn’t enjoyed himself this much in months. No, longer than that. Certainly not since before the National Finals Rodeo two years ago, when he realized his bull- and bronc-riding career had tanked with zero possibility of him rebounding.
Marla blinked, hesitating. Her glance cut quickly to Kenny. When he and everyone else remained silent, she finally answered.
“No one wants to hear about me.”
“Yes, we do,” the women nearest her insisted.
Bobbie-Ann remained uncharacteristically quiet.
Marla let out a long, indecisive breath. “I’m a competitive trail rider.”
“No fooling!” Brent didn’t know a lot about the sport, other than it required a tremendous amount of athleticism, strength and hard work on the part of both horse and rider. “That’s impressive.”
“Not really,” she said, attempting to dismiss her accomplishments.
But Brent observed a slight squaring of her shoulders he could only describe as satisfaction or pride.
“Have you won any events?” the woman asked.
“A few. Not in a while, though. I took a break from competing. Life got in the way. I just recently returned.”
“Good for you.” The woman smiled approvingly. “I admire anyone who can return after a setback.”
Brent did, too. He knew firsthand how hard that was, having tried himself and failed. He liked to think he was at long last moving out of the dark place and that life would improve in Payson. At least he was getting out of the house, seeing new sights, meeting new people, trying new things. A definite improvement.
As was landing gainful, permanent employment. Working sporadically for these last two years had drained his bank account. The full-time wrangler job at Mountainside Stables was right up his alley. A wedding date for hire? Not so much. Still, he couldn’t complain. The part-time gig paid well.
“I’m trying to get Marla to take up golf,” Kenny said, and then went on to describe a nine iron he’d purchased the previous week.
Marla appeared relieved to no longer be the center of attention.
Kenny’s lengthy description of his new golf club was thankfully cut short when the servers materialized with their food.
Brent savored every bite of his delicious turkey dinner, which would be the closest he’d come to celebrating Thanksgiving. If he wasn’t working tomorrow at Mountainside Stables, he’d spend the day staring at the walls. Much the same as he’d done last Thanksgiving. And Christmas. And every other major holiday.
The remainder of the reception progressed as expected. After their meal, toasts were made and the cake cut. A DJ took to the small stage, and guests joined the bride and groom on the dance floor.
Brent turned to Bobbie-Ann. “Would you like to dance?”
“Yes!” She jumped to her feet.
They hit the floor a total of six times—Bobbie-Ann more often than that, pairing up with friends and participating in the boisterous line dances. Brent took advantage of the breaks to resume people watching or engage in casual chatter with other guests at the table. Sadly, Marla didn’t return, Kenny apparently keeping her busy elsewhere.
Just as well. She had a boyfriend. And, besides, Brent wasn’t in any kind of emotional place to consider a relationship, committed or casual. Hopefully, that would change along with his new jobs and new address.
It was time he got his act together. Past time. Problem was, he had almost no motivation. What had once been easy for him now required tremendous effort. Brent didn’t like labeling his problem. Men didn’t suffer from depression. Especially big, tough, physically strong men like him. Men who rode bulls and broncs for a living. In his mind, he should be able to just shake it off. Except he couldn’t.
He woke up most mornings with little desire to crawl out of bed. When he eventually did, he dragged through his day as if wearing a hundred-pound chain around his neck and cement shoes. The idea that he might need professional help often occurred to him. His ego refused to let him seek it.
Instead, he put on happy face and pretended everything was fine. Maybe one day, he’d start to believe it and feel better for real.
Sometime later, the DJ announced the last dance. Bobbie-Ann found her way back to the table, her complexion glowing from mild perspiration, her eyes bright and a grin stretching from ear to ear. The wedding had been winding down for the past forty-five minutes, but not Bobbie-Ann.
“One final spin?” Brent asked.
“Love to.”
The DJ played a slow number.
“Guess it’s time to go,” Bobbie-Ann said on the way to the table.
“Guess it is.”
She glanced toward the door and then back at Brent, her eyes hopeful. “I don’t suppose we could go somewhere else?”
The owner of Your Perfect Plus One had prepared Brent for just this possibility, and he let Bobbie-Ann down gently. “I wish I could. I have an appointment at five.”
“Another wedding date?”
He said nothing, neither denying nor confirming. There was a limit to how much personal information he’d reveal.
“Got it.” She nodded resignedly.
Brent kept a lookout for Marla while crossing the room toward the exit. She wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Neither was Kenny. They must have left. Brent snuffed out the slight stab of disappointment.
He and Bobbie-Ann drove to the shopping center where they’d met up and where Brent had left his truck.
“It was nice to meet you,” he said reaching for the door handle. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
She surprised him by leaning over and throwing her arms around his neck. “Thanks. You were a great date. Really wonderful.”
“You take care, Bobbie-Ann.”
“You, too.”
ONCE IN HIS TRUCK, he called Your Perfect Plus One and reported in to the owner, who was pleased to hear the date went well. Next, he plugged his destination into the GPS app on his phone.
While he followed the voice’s directions, he mentally prepared for his second job interview today. Mountainside Stables was located on the grounds of Bear Creek Ranch, a four-star resort north of Payson. And while situated on the resort grounds, the Stables was independently owned and operated. Brent had talked with the owner of the trail-ride outfit twice already on the phone, and the man had assured him today’s interview was a formality. Brent had the job if he wanted it, which he did.
But first, he needed to escape the exhaustion pulling him down and down. The long day of driving, combined with the wedding and his constant battle to present a cheerful front, had worn him out. One more hour, he told himself, then he could surrender to the depths until tomorrow.
Twelve miles north of Payson, he spotted the monument sign for Bear Creek Ranch. As he executed the turn, the GPS voice informed him that he’d arrived.
Though not yet five, the sun had already dipped beneath the nearby mountains. The sky hung in that drab place between dusk and nightfall. Brent related. He felt that way most of the time. Though, there’d been a bright spot today: sitting across from Marla during the reception.
He exercised care on the long, winding dirt road. Sharp bends could easily hide people on foot, riders on horses and nocturnal critters in search of food. He crossed a narrow bridge traversing Bear Creek, the origin of the ranch’s name, according to their website. Every building at the hundred-year-old vacation lodge was constructed of logs, from the main office to the dining hall to the quaint guest cabins.
Arrows pointed the way to the stables, and he followed them. A red barn appeared at the bottom of the hill, off to the side and nestled against a stand of tall pine trees. Horses of varying sizes, colors and breeds ate contentedly in the large enclosure beside the barn, their noses buried in three communal feed troughs. Brent parked next to the hitching post and got out. A man he judged to be in his early sixties emerged from inside the stables.
“Evening,” he called. “You must be Brent.”
“Ansel?”
“In the flesh. Welcome to Bear Creek Ranch.”
The two shook hands. Ansel’s roughened palm and weathered cheeks belonged to a man who’d spent his life outdoors rather than tied to a desk. His amiable grin put Brent instantly at ease.
“A pleasure to meet you, sir.”
“Channing speaks highly of you. It’s on account of his recommendation I’m offering you the job.”
“He and his family are good people. I’ve known them a lot of years. Competed against Channing on the rodeo circuit. He won more than I did.”
Ansel chuckled and went on to explain the requirements of the job as guide for the mounted trail rides. In addition to weekly wages, Brent would be given a bed in the employee bunkhouse and three squares a day. He’d be up with the sun and work until it went down, five days on followed by two days off. If there were no customers to take out on the trails, he was expected to clean tack, make repairs, train the livestock, run errands and whatever else Ansel required of him. Brent’s free time was his to spend how he saw fit.
“I like to stay busy,” Brent said. Staying busy kept his mind occupied and kept him from sinking into the dark place.
“Trust me, that can be arranged.” Ansel chuckled again.
Before he could continue, a figure emerged from the stables, the two-story building casting her in shadows. She’d changed from her pale gold dress into jeans, and it took Brent a few seconds to recognize her. When he did, his pulse spiked.
Marla!
She recognized him, too, her brown eyes widening with surprise.
“Brett?”
“Hi.”
“You two know each other?” Ansel asked.
“We met this afternoon,” Brent said. “At a wedding. And the name’s actually Brent.”
“Oh. I apologize.” She looked chagrinned. “I must have misheard.”
He didn’t explain the use of a fake name for his wedding-date side gig.
A movement drew his attention, and he realized Marla wasn’t alone. A child, a boy of one or maybe two, stepped out from behind her. After giving Brent a cautious once-over, he tipped his head way back and lifted his arms to Marla.
“Mama. Up. Up.”
Mama? Well, thought Brent, that was unexpected.
“What are you doing here?” she asked him, her tone curious rather than alarmed as she stroked her son’s head.
“He’s our new wrangler,” Ansel said and turned to Brent. “Maia’s my daughter. And this here young whippersnapper is TJ, my grandson.”
“Mama. Up.”
“Maia?” Brent asked. “This is embarrassing. I thought your name was Marla.”
She laughed. “It’s Maia. But sometimes Marla. It’s a long story.” She bent and lifted the boy into her arms, settling him on her hip.
He grinned, his previous exhaustion vanishing. This new job of his suddenly held much more appeal.
