Her Surprise Cowboy Groom
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Cathy McDavid
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CHAPTER ONE
IF WEDDING DRESSES had personalities, this one would be a stubborn toddler in the throes of a power struggle.
Laurel Montgomery released a frustrated groan, stepped away from the current bane of her existence and scrubbed her cheeks with both hands. Despite her unrelenting efforts for the past ten minutes, the strip of delicate lace refused to lie flat and insisted on puckering. Puckering! This was the problem of a first-year fashion student, not a successful wedding dress designer with her own business.
“Might as well surrender,” she told the dress. Hands on hips, she glared at the voluminous white gown, looking all harmless and innocent from where it hung on the dress form in what Laurel called the stitch-and-fix section of her shop, Bellissima. “You will not defeat me.”
The strip of lace had the audacity to crinkle in the middle.
Laurel sighed. Perhaps a break was in order. She’d been hard at it since the crack of dawn and would be hard at it until well into the evening.
In a mere two days, June would be upon them. The busiest month of the year for Wishing Well Springs, the wedding barn and miniature Western town Laurel and her brother, Cash, co-owned. As of this morning, thirty-six weddings were on the schedule. Yes, that meant doubling up some days. There were sunrise ceremonies, sunset ceremonies and even a midnight candlelight ceremony. And everything in between.
A few slots remained open for small, intimate weddings with only the couple and their closest acquaintances. Phoebe Montgomery, Wishing Well Springs’s wedding coordinator and Laurel’s new sister-in-law, would do her best to accommodate every request.
And Laurel would, too. Which explained why she and Phoebe were also best friends since childhood. Both were overachievers.
She studied the long rack of carefully separated garment bags and silently counted. Seventeen—the number of dresses in all shapes, styles and colors Laurel was responsible for, including four matching bridesmaid outfits and one mother of the bride ensemble.
Not to mention the flower girl dresses. Laurel had yet to meet the pair of sisters slated for those. Their mom had ordered their dresses from Laurel’s own ready-to-wear line featured on Bellissima’s website and scheduled a fitting for next week.
To be honest, that particular wedding occurring at month’s end was the least of Laurel’s concerns. She had higher priority orders taking precedence.
Besides designing and sewing original creations, she altered, updated and repurposed previously worn gowns. And if she didn’t get this stupid strip of lace to lie flat, she’d never accomplish everything on her massive to-do list.
What she needed was a new assistant. Laurel been left high and dry last week when her previous assistant quit with almost no notice. Seemed she’d landed a job in New York City. Yeah, yeah. The very center of the fashion industry.
Laurel had once held the same dream to work in New York. She couldn’t be angry with her assistant for accepting the amazing opportunity. Except she’d been left shorthanded, understaffed and with no free time to recruit someone new.
A change of scenery was in order, she decided. With a clear head and lower blood pressure, she’d be able to tame that rebellious piece of lace into submission. Besides, she needed to chat with her brother about their first June wedding on Friday, rumored to have a VIP guest in attendance. The bride and her attendants were being driven to the barn in a carriage—a service provided by Wishing Well Springs at an additional cost for couples wanting the full cowboy and Western experience.
Only they were waiting on the substitute driver to make his appearance—their regular driver was on an extended out-of-the-country trip for, of all things, a wedding.
There were details to discuss with the new driver and a test run from the house to the barn to conduct. A schedule to review. The bride’s grand entrance on Friday depended entirely on this stranger Cash had unearthed from who knew where to drive the carriage.
Grabbing her phone and keys off the shelf, Laurel navigated a winding path through Bellissima toward the propped open double doors. She passed the changing rooms and the viewing area with its seating nook for family and friends, and the many dresses on display. Locking the door behind her, she crossed the main lobby separating Bellissima from the business offices. Her sensible yet stylish heels echoed on the converted ranch house’s hardwood floors.
“I’m heading over to talk to Cash,” she called to Phoebe, visible through the entrance to the business offices. “Be back shortly.”
Phoebe waved from her desk, a phone glued to her ear.
At the front door, Laurel paused to consider the merits of a hat. Which was worse, flat hair or windblown hair? She smoothed her chin-length locks. The wind would strip every molecule of styling product she’d meticulously applied this morning and leave her looking like she’d just rolled out of bed. Flat hair would merely require a comb and fluff on her return.
Selecting a floppy straw bonnet off the coatrack by the door, she stuck the ugly old thing on her head and adjusted the chin strap. It was a sight but would serve the purpose. Satisfied, she continued outside to the sprawling porch. At the bottom of the steps, she hopped into one of the two golf carts parked alongside the manicured circular driveway. The barn and miniature Western town, located a quarter mile up the road, were too far to walk to in heels, sensible or not.
Sliding in behind the steering wheel, she started the engine. Electric rather than gas, the golf cart hummed quietly as she traveled the winding dirt road. As frequently happened on her jaunts around the property, bits and pieces of the past tickled the corners of her memory.
Many, many years ago, her grandparents had owned the largest horse ranch in the area, employing both of Laurel’s parents. An unexpected economic downturn hit the Montgomerys smack in the piggy bank. Then, her grandmother developed terminal cancer. Neither Laurel’s parents nor grandparents had been equipped to handle two back-to-back catastrophes.
At the tender age of fourteen, Laurel’s entire life changed when, two years after losing her beloved grandmother, her parents filed for bankruptcy. Not long after that, her father moved out of state when he and Laurel’s mom divorced. Acre by acre, her grandfather had sold off the ranch until all that remained was the main house, stables and the barn, which fell into disrepair through years of neglect.
Converting their rundown inheritance into a wedding venue had been Laurel’s brainchild. She and her brother, Cash, joined forces, and in three years’ time they went from a crazy idea to one of Payson, Arizona’s most prominent businesses.
Never again would she and Cash scrape by like when they were teenagers. Never again would they bear the brunt of mean-spirited gossip. Never again would they be helpless victims at the mercy of others. Granted, Laurel was guilty of working too hard. But she was also prepared for the unexpected blows fate regularly dealt.
Approaching the last hill, she pressed down on the pedal and powered the golf cart up the steep incline. Near the top, the wedding barn materialized. She felt a surge of pride and satisfaction at the sight of all she and Cash had achieved. Who wouldn’t want to get married in a rustic yet charming barn with a quaint stone well out in front, a venue that was often featured in magazines, newspapers and wedding websites? The miniature Western town could be straight out of an old movie. Except the bank, sheriff’s office, jail, livery stable and general store were one-fourth the size of their real-life counterparts.
Located at the end of the miniature town was Cash’s architectural office—this one full-scale. Clients loved coming to see him and almost always snapped pictures of themselves in cute or funny poses.
Some days, Cash tethered their pair of old draft horses, Otis and Elvis, to the hitching post in front of the livery stables. Today, however, the only animal tied up outside was a fluffy brown poodle mix that dissolved into a happy frenzy when Laurel parked beside a red extended-cab pickup.
She supposed the dog belonged to the owner of the truck. Shutting off the golf cart, she climbed out and started for Cash’s door. The dog yipped enthusiastically and pulled against the leash securing it to the railing.
Laurel frowned. Kind of hot to leave a dog tied up outside, even in the shade and even though the owner had left a pan of water nearby.
“Poor pooch.” She tentatively extended a palm as she approached, doubting this bundle of excitement would bite. “How long have you been waiting here?”
The dog, a big puppy, really, flopped down on the wooden boardwalk and rolled over into a please-rub-my-belly pose.
“You’re such a silly...” Laurel checked as she bent and gave the dog’s stomach a vigorous scratching. “A silly girl.”
The dog whined in ecstasy, her tongue lolling out of the side of her mouth and her tail thumping against the wooden planks.
It was then Laurel noticed a piece of paper stuck in the dog’s collar.
“What’s this?” Curious, she removed the note and read out loud. “My name is Jelly Belly. I’m not hungry, just spoiled. Do not feed me no matter how much I tempt you with my pleading eyes.” Laurel laughed and returned the note to the dog’s collar. “Methinks you are a con artist, little missy.”
Jelly Belly sprang to her feet and, panting loudly, fixed Laurel with the pleading eyes she’d just been warned to ignore.
“Maybe I’ll bring you inside with me.” Unable to resist, Laurel leaned closer and scrunched Jelly Belly’s silky soft ears. The dog took Laurel’s actions as an invitation to lick every square inch of her face.
“Enough with the kisses.” She uttered the token protest and half-heartedly averted her face.
Laurel loved dogs and missed having one. Maybe eventually, when she wasn’t working ridiculous hours and traveling periodically for special projects, she’d adopt a rescue. She loved cats, too, but couldn’t risk the damage an errant claw might inflict on her precious creations.
The door to Cash’s office banged opened, and Laurel straightened, automatically adjusting her bonnet. Jelly Belly barked excitedly and pulled on the leash.
“That’s our dog,” a young voice proclaimed.
“Who are you?” a second young voice demanded.
Laurel blinked, thinking for a second she was seeing double. The two freckled-faced little girls were clearly sisters, their resemblance undeniable.
“Hello, there. I was just making friends with Jelly Belly.”
“She’s a bad dog,” the girl with the red T-shirt said in a solemn voice.
“Really?”
“She chews,” the girl with the purple T-shirt added. “A lot. And potties inside.”
“She pottied in there.” Her sister indicated Cash’s door.
Ah-ha, thought Laurel. That explained the dog’s banishment. “Well, she’s just a puppy, and puppies have accidents.”
“She’s this old.” The girl in purple held up four fingers.
Laurel decided she must mean four months. “How old are you and your sister?”
“This many,” the girls answered simultaneously.
The cutie pie in red displayed three fingers, the other, four. After verifying with each other, the girl in purple changed her fingers to three.
“So, you’re both three?” Laurel smiled, completely smitten.
They nodded vigorously, their crooked ponytails bouncing.
“And you’re twins?”
More nodding. The girl in purple sat in front of Jelly Belly and hugged the dog’s neck. Jelly Belly’s attempts to crawl into her lap produced an eruption of giggles.
Cash’s office door again flew open. Laurel fully expected a typical, casually attired, millennial couple to emerge, parents of these girls and Jelly Belly’s owner. Or, perhaps, a harried mother who’d stopped in for a quick meeting to go over some detail on her new house design.
Laurel was wrong on both counts. A tall, broad-shouldered cowboy filled the doorway. With his dusty boots, weathered hat, worn work shirt and jeans that had traveled thousands of miles in the saddle, he couldn’t possibly be these adorable girls’ father.
“Daddy, Daddy!” They rushed over, pulling on his hand and belt loops in a bid for attention.
Jelly Belly yipped and stood on her hind legs, pawing the air.
Okay. Wrong again.
He stepped onto the boardwalk and placed a hand atop each girl’s head. “I’m sorry if these two are bothering you.”
“Not at all. They were telling me about Jelly Belly.”
He flashed her a thousand-watt smile that lit up his entire face, especially his eyes. Were they green or golden brown? Green, she determined on closer inspection. Definitely. And very compelling.
Suddenly aware of her own appearance, Laurel tugged on the brim of her bonnet. Why had she chosen this wretched old thing? And when had she last applied lip gloss?
“Daddy. Come on. Wanna play in the jail again.”
“Yeah. We wanna play.”
Jelly Belly barked.
Nothing like two impatient youngsters and a hyperactive puppy to bring reality crashing down.
Laurel straightened and produced her most professional smile. The man standing before her wasn’t her type. Sophisticated, well-dressed, neatly groomed professionals appealed to her. Except there was no denying this cowboy’s attractiveness and her instant response to it.
Careful, she warned herself and retreated a step. This was the kind of thing that had gotten her into big trouble once before. She’d allowed herself to become enamored, lost sight of her priorities and then paid the price.
Work and chronic fatigue. There could be no other explanation. Too many hours with her nose to the grindstone had muddled her senses. She’d be fine and back to her old self once she put some distance between her and this not-her-type cowboy who was probably married.
She discreetly checked his left hand. Bare. Not that the absence of a ring meant anything and not that she cared either way.
“Hey.” Her brother Cash stepped out from behind the tall cowboy to greet Laurel. “I was just getting ready to take Max and the girls to the house.”
“You were?” She tried to mask her surprise.
“He’s our temporary carriage driver.”
“Oh?” She let that piece of news sink in.
“You said the other day you wanted to meet him and go over what to expect. Maybe tomorrow you can ride with him on the test run with the carriage and horses.”
“Test run,” she repeated.
Max grinned and studied Laurel with those absolutely, definitely green eyes of his. “Mornings are better for me. What about you?”
And there went her plan to put some distance between them.
MAX, SHORT FOR MAXWELL—his first name of Leander had never stuck—patted the small head to his right. “This is my daughter Addie, and my daughter Daisy.” He patted the head to his left.
“It’s very nice to meet all of you,” Laurel said.
She manufactured a pleasant smile he’d bet she reserved for customers. Gone was the expression of delight he’d seen when he first walked outside. A shame. She had a nice smile. Nice everything, if he were honest. Even that pitiful excuse for a hat looked cute on her.
“My kids really love this little town you have,” he said. “Mind if we let them play while we talk? They’ve been cooped up most of the day.”
“Of course not.”
From inside the office, a phone rang. “I need to grab that,” Cash said. “You two go on. I’ll catch up later.”
And then Max and Laurel were alone. If he didn’t count his kids and the pain-in-the-neck puppy they’d adopted during a weak moment when his ex-wife had canceled yet another visit.
“After you.” He gestured, and Laurel stepped off the boardwalk. The girls were already skipping ahead and paying no attention.
“Addie. Daisy. Did you forget something?” he called after them.
They stopped and stared back at him in confusion.
“Your dog?”
“Sorry, Daddy.”
“Yeah, sorry.”
The girls scrambled toward him, each trying to gain on the other. It was always like that. A constant competition. What would they be like as teenagers? As young women? He hoped to survive that long.
Leaning down, he untied Jelly Belly with a quick flick of his wrist and handed the leash to Daisy, who’d beaten her sister by a scant second. She snatched the leash away when Addie tried grabbing it.
“Mine!”
“Girls,” Max issued the warning in what he referred to as his level one voice.
“Your daughters sure do love that dog,” Laurel observed when they began walking.
He grumbled, “Jelly has her good points, I suppose. She keeps the girls entertained. Doesn’t shed. Not sure Addie and Daisy have fully grasped the responsibility aspect of pet ownership.”
“They’re three. They’ll get better.”
He slowed, keeping pace with Laurel and maintaining a watchful eye on the girls. “The note on Jelly’s collar is as much a reminder for them as to warn strangers. They’re always sneaking her food, and I’m tired of scrubbing up dog vomit. Sorry about the visual.”
Laurel laughed, and Max found himself intrigued despite his resolve. He’d gleaned not only from her brother, Cash, but also around town that she was smart, talented and driven to make a name for herself. Not that there was anything wrong with ambition to the exclusion of all else. It was fine for other people, but not for Max.
He’d been there and done that with his ex-wife, Charlene. Like Laurel, Charlene had made a name for herself. But their marriage and the girls had suffered as a result. Max had no intention of repeating history.
“Do the girls often go with you to work?” Laurel asked.
“Don’t worry. I won’t be bringing them tomorrow or to the weddings.”
“I wasn’t... I didn’t mean to imply...” She paused to regroup, her cheeks coloring. “Okay. That came out wrong.”
“My neighbor Mrs. Applewood babysits for me,” he said, letting Laurel off the hook.
She blinked. “Mrs. Applewood, the retired teacher?”
“You know her?”
“I had her in second grade, if she’s the same Mrs. Applewood.”
“How many second-grade teachers by that name can there be in town?”
Laurel laughed again, and the genuine smile he’d spotted earlier bloomed on her face. Max couldn’t look away.
Addie and Daisy ducked into the jail with Jelly. Max stopped at the hitching post outside the livery, the spot providing him a clear view of the jail’s interior. Laurel stopped, too, and rested an arm on the railing. The contrast between her impeccable business attire and the Old West backdrop made a fetching sight.
He found himself wondering how she’d look without the hat, only to remind himself not to go there. Classy women like Laurel Montgomery didn’t give scruffy cowboys a second glance. Especially scruffy cowboys who came with two young kids.
Suddenly, he wanted her to see him as something more. Which made no sense. This spark of attraction wasn’t one he intended to pursue.
“Your brother and I are trading services. I’m filling in for your regular carriage driver and Cash is helping me with some construction work.”
“You have a ranch?”
“I’m the owner of Happy Trails Glampsite.”
“I’ve heard of that!” Laurel’s blue eyes widened with surprise and, he wanted to believe, admiration. “You’re the owner?”
“Guilty as charged.”
“Good for you. Glamping is very popular these days. Aren’t you opening soon?”
“July first. Which doesn’t give me much time. Cash is sending his crew out to finish the main firepit, the tent floors and the bathhouses.”
“Bathhouses as in...”
“Showers and lavatories. Gotta have those. They’re the main thing that makes the experience glamping instead of plain old camping.”
She scrunched her mouth in thought. “Do I remember hearing you have a team penning facility?”
“Had. I sold it a couple years ago, after my divorce.”
“Oh. That must have been difficult.”
What always sounded like an empty platitude from other people came across as a heartfelt sentiment from Laurel.
Max shrugged. “It is what it is. I’d had my fill of ten-hour workdays and decided I wanted a job that would allow me more time for Addie and Daisy. What with their mom living in Phoenix.”
“You have full custody?” Laurel grimaced and held up a hand. “Apologies. That was a personal question you absolutely do not have to answer. My clients tend to share the most private details of their lives while buying a wedding dress, and I obviously have no respect for boundaries.”
He chuckled. “No worries. I’m an open book.” His glance cut to his daughters attempting to put Jelly behind bars. “Technically, Charlene and I have joint custody. Though, truth is, she only visits the girls every few months for a couple hours, or an entire day if we’re lucky.”
Laurel nodded, her lower lip trapped between her teeth. He could see she had a lot of questions she was stopping herself from asking. He had no problem telling the whole story. She, however, might not be comfortable hearing it.
That was something he’d discovered about being divorced. People were naturally curious, but the details made them squeamish, as if his misfortune was contagious.
My plan is,” he said, “once Happy Trails is fully up and running, I’ll only need to work half days. Except for grounds keeping and maintenance, a lot of the campsite will be self-sufficient. I figure the girls can ride along with me when I’m cleaning tents and hauling trash.”
“I’m sure they’ll love that.”
“Until they grow sick and tired of their old man.”
“Which won’t ever happen.”
As if in response, Addie and Daisy came barreling out of the jail, Jelly on their heels. Of course, Daisy had dropped the leash, and it dragged in the dirt behind the dog.
“Daddy, Daddy.”
They quickly surrounded Max.
“We wanna go home,” Addie whined.
“She punched me,” Daisy complained.
“What have I told you two about fighting?”
“She started it,” they said simultaneously and pointed accusing fingers at each other.
“All right. We’ll go. As soon as I’m done talking with Ms. Montgomery.”
“Mizz Montgummy,” Addie said, mangling the name.
“You can call me Laurel.” She bent and tweaked each girl’s chin.
Interesting. She liked kids. Max filed that bit of information away.
“Is ten o’clock tomorrow morning okay with you?” Max asked, getting back to the reason for their meeting. “That’s when Mrs. Applewood is available. And I’ll need time to ready your carriage and harness the horses.”
“Um...” Laurel pulled her phone from her skirt pocket and opened a calendar app. “I can do nine thirty. I have an appointment at eleven, another at noon and two more in the afternoon.”
“Nine thirty it is. I’ll throw myself on Mrs. Applewood’s mercy.” He ruffled Addie’s hair. “Grab the dog, honey, and let’s go.”
“I’m off, too,” Laurel said. “There’s a dress with a stubborn piece of lace waiting to determine which one of us will be victorious.”
“Having met you, the dress doesn’t stand a chance.”
She smiled, this time shyly. “See you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow,” Daisy echoed.
“No, you won’t,” Max corrected her. “But you will see her next week.”
“You bringing these little cuties by again?” Laurel asked.
“For the dress fitting. Addie and Daisy are in their aunt’s wedding. My former sister-in-law.”
Realization dawned on Laurels face. “You’re my two flower girls with the ready-made dresses. I had no idea.”
“I’m gonna be a bride,” Addie sung out.
“Me, too,” Daisy joined in.
“They’re confused about what exactly a flower girl is,” Max said.
“Maybe I can explain during the fitting. Will their mom be there, too?”
“Nah. But I’ll let you know if that changes.”
Max wasn’t even sure Charlene would be there for the wedding, much less dress fittings.
“Sounds good. Tomorrow at nine thirty, then.” Laurel turned to leave.
He watched her walk across the dirt road toward where she’d parked the golf cart, impressed she didn’t trip in those shoes. Before starting the golf cart, she checked her phone again and made a quick call.
In that one way, she reminded Max of his ex-wife: rarely taking a break, her job always on her mind. This was probably the most sunshine Laurel had seen in a week.
He’d learned the hard way that life was too short to spend it working from dawn to dusk and, as a result, had readjusted his priorities. The next woman he dated would share his attitude, and she obviously wasn’t Laurel Montgomery.
He herded his girls and Jelly toward the truck. “Who wants to stop for ice cream on the way home?”
