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The music changed then, became a march. Everyone shifted in their seats, and after a second, so did Winnie.
“Rodeo princesses are making their entrance,” Jackson said softly as the crowd gasped. He placed a steady hand on her shoulder.
Her nerves calmed at his words, his touch.
“Imagine they’re on horses,” he added.
Not hard to do, since the first bride was Cassidy, and she was never happier than when she was riding. The golden-haired woman with her sunshine smile had a degree from the University of Montana but she worked at Monahan’s Equestrian Center now, doing what she’d been born and raised to do—train horses.
The normally taciturn Farley beamed as his bride—no, rodeo princess—gave him her hand. The look they shared was so sweet that Winnie’s heart tumbled a little, but she set it right again by turning to look at the second bride.
Fortunately, Savannah didn’t look anything like a sheriff today in her fitted white dress and delicate shoes, her long dark hair falling in gentle waves down her shoulders. The crowd gave her a second appreciative gasp, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her smile and gaze were just for B.J.
As the congregation settled down, Winnie focused on her hands clasped in her lap.
“Family and friends,” intoned the minister, “We are gathered today to celebrate the marriages of two very special couples—”
A tear dropped onto her hand. She hadn’t even realized that she’d started to cry. She blinked, and a second one followed.
Suddenly a large hand covered both of hers. She felt the rough calluses first. The warmth second.
She glanced up and saw such a tender look in Jackson’s eyes that she almost started crying again. Thank goodness she’d been smart enough to forgo eye makeup. She had to get a grip here. Listening to the minister had been a mistake. She had to take Jackson’s lead and pretend she was somewhere else.
In her mind Winnie started going over all of Bobby’s milestones. The first time he rolled over. His first smile. His first tooth. Gradually she could feel her muscles relaxing, and Jackson must have felt the same, because he gave her hands a pat, then returned his hand to his own thigh.
The fact that he was being so kind to her made her feel even worse about the suffering she knew he’d been going through this past year and a half. She should have called him sooner. Maybe they could have helped one another through their grief, rather than dealing with the sadness and loss on their own.
Once the ceremony was over, they would talk. She’d invite him for coffee. Make things right.
* * *
JACKSON STONE WAS in agony. Of all the people in this church, why had that damn kid sat Winnie Hays next to him?
If only they weren’t squished in so tightly that he could feel her warm thigh up against his. The contact was the sweetest form of torture he could imagine. There were at least a dozen reasons why he shouldn’t find her so attractive, but he did.
And he had from the first time Brock had brought her home to meet the family.
He’d never met a woman before with such sparkle in her eyes, such sass in her smile. He’d watched her shake hands with Olive, Cassidy, Corb and B.J. and when it came time for his turn, he’d half expected sparks to ignite when her palm met his.
And they had.
But only for him.
That was when he knew that he had to keep as much distance between himself and Brock’s girlfriend as possible.
And he’d done it.
But it hadn’t made his life easy. And it had become a true nightmare on the day of their wedding.
Jackson still had terrible dreams about the crash. He hadn’t seen the moose in time to avoid a collision. There had been a curve in the road, then the stand of aspen and willows.
And suddenly the huge body of a bull moose coming up from the right...
No. He couldn’t let himself go there. Not now. If this was hard for him, it had to be four times more difficult for Winnie. Last night at the rehearsal dinner Laurel had confided to him that she expected her friend to bail out of the ceremony.
“She’ll come to the reception,” Corb’s redheaded wife had said. “But not to the church.”
“Yeah. That’s probably the best thing,” he’d said.
He’d wished he could skip the ceremony, too. But he’d lived with the Lamberts since he was thirteen, and B.J. and Cassidy were like his own siblings. He didn’t want to miss their special day because of his own weakness. And he did see it as a weakness—that he couldn’t seem to get past that day.
Diversions helped. Things like work, Maddie Turner’s illness and the financial challenge of turning around the fortunes of the Silver Creek Ranch.
But occasionally a guy had to stop and just be.
And that was when the bad memories would sneak in. Sometimes he envied Corb, who’d sustained serious brain trauma in the accident and remembered nothing.
He wished he could have been unconscious, too. Then he wouldn’t have the pictures of the awful aftermath in his head.
The split second when he’d seen the moose. Then the crash and the screams. Followed by silence.
The moose had taken out the roof of the truck and sunshine had beamed directly on his head. He’d been pinned to his seat by the airbag at first. Stunned.
The first thing he noticed was the sunshine, warm on his head. Birds were singing. He said a prayer before turning his head.
But the prayer hadn’t been answered. Because all he’d seen was blood. And when he’d called out to the others, to Brock and to Corb—no one had responded.
Chapter Two
Olive Lambert was making a toast, welcoming her new son- and daughter-in-law into the Lambert family. All the wedding guests were gathered in the dining hall of Monahan’s Equestrian Center. The room was spacious and well-appointed, with windows looking out at rolling hills and distant mountains, a huge river-rock fireplace and a large dance floor next to the bar.
Winnie was enjoying her glass of champagne, which she’d already raised three times for earlier speeches. First Dan had toasted his bride, then B.J. had done the same for Savannah.
Corb, as best man, had spoken next.
And now, Olive.
Winnie tried to remember the last time she’d had champagne. It must have been at her and Brock’s engagement party. Unknown to her at the time, that had been when Corb had fallen in love with her best friend, Laurel Sheridan, who’d flown in from New York so she could be Winnie’s maid of honor.
The visit had been planned to last one week.
But after Brock’s accident, Laurel had extended her stay so she could look after the Cinnamon Stick while Winnie recuperated on her parents’ farm in Highwood.
“...I remember when you were just a boy, hanging out with B.J., Corb and Brock,” Olive was saying, her gaze on Dan Farley, who had taken over his father’s vet practice several years earlier. “You were over so often, it was like you were a member of the family. Now it’s official, and I couldn’t be more delighted.”
“To Dan.” Winnie raised the delicate crystal flute and took another sip.
“And of course I want to welcome Savannah to the family, as well,” Olive concluded.
Thud. Winnie glanced around to see if anyone else had noticed Olive’s lack of enthusiasm toward her new daughter-in-law. Laurel caught her eye, then winked.
Winnie struggled not to laugh. She finished her champagne, set down the glass then moved closer to her friend.
“I guess Olive was hoping B.J. would do better?” asked Winnie. Which, in Olive’s mind, meant marrying a local ranching girl whose father owned lots of land.
Laurel was in a forest-green sheath that showcased both her slender figure and her gleaming red hair. “Yes. Savannah is an amazing woman and a terrific sheriff. But her parents had some troubles—financial and otherwise—and Olive doesn’t approve.”
“Bad bloodlines, huh?”
“Yup. Olive thinks she should be able to control the breeding lines of her children, the same way she does the quarter horses.”
Winnie chuckled. Laurel was great at seeing the humorous side of almost any situation. When she was in the early stages of her romance with Corb, Olive had actually invited one of Corb’s old girlfriends to dinner, hoping to divert his attention. Winnie would have exploded in a similar situation, but Laurel had somehow dealt with it.
“It’s crazy, but I guess Olive gets her way sometimes. Witness Cassidy and Dan Farley.”
“That almost backfired on her,” Laurel whispered back. “Didn’t I tell you about the ranch getting quarantined?”
“Probably. I’ve been so sleep deprived lately, my memory is shot.” She searched the crowds until she found Jackson. He was talking with a couple of local ranchers, but as soon as she spotted him, his gaze met hers.
She felt the oddest warmth steal over her. Quickly she glanced away. “What’s up with Jackson? Why didn’t he bring a date?”
“Who would he bring? He’s been all work, no play since—”
Laurel didn’t finish. She didn’t need to.
“Do you think it would help if I talked to him?”
“You can try. Most everyone else has. Except Olive, of course. She’s the only one in all of Coffee Creek who really does seem to blame him for what happened.” Laurel rolled her eyes at the unfairness of it all.
Before Winnie had a chance to reply, the band started playing and Corb claimed his wife for a dance.
Winnie watched the pair walk off, hand in hand. They were so good together. Would she and Brock have been as well suited? She’d never know.
Winnie turned and headed to the bar to get a glass of cranberry and soda. There were still a few people she ought to talk to, then she’d go home. She’d told Eugenia that she wouldn’t be out very late.
Once she had her drink, she swiveled back toward the dance floor—and found herself face-to-face with Olive.
The matriarch of the Lambert family was looking her best tonight. Her silver hair was beautifully styled and her trim figure looked sharp in a vintage Chanel suit. Olive always managed to look like a lady—even when she didn’t act that way.
“I haven’t had a chance to welcome you back to Coffee Creek.” The words were nice, but Olive’s eyes were cold.
Winnie accepted the tepid hug Olive offered, catching a hint of classic Chanel No. 5 perfume as she did so. “Thanks, Olive. I was wondering if you’d like to pop in at the café next week to meet Bobby.”
“My grandson, you mean.” Olive’s green eyes glittered with affront. “I must say I was surprised—and hurt—that you never sent us a birth announcement.”
Trust Olive to make an issue of this, here, in public. “I did call,” Winnie said.
“Your message said nothing about having a baby! We had no idea you were even pregnant.”
Winnie pulled every inch she could out of her spine. This woman had intimidated her at one time, but no longer. “Well, you would have if you’d returned my earlier call, after Brock’s funeral.”
Olive’s eyes dulled. “That was a terrible time. I wasn’t up to talking on the phone.”
“It wasn’t a great time for me, either.” And yet she’d made the effort to get in touch with her fiancé’s mother, even though she knew Olive didn’t like her. She’d hoped they could come together in their shared grief over Brock’s death. And she’d wanted to break the news about her pregnancy in a more personal way, not through a generic birth announcement.
But Olive hadn’t called back. And a month later Winnie had tried again, with a similar result.
“You could have written. Or sent word via Corb or Laurel.”
“I could have,” Winnie agreed. “But you may have guessed by now that I have a stubborn streak.”
She met Olive’s glare without backing down. The honest truth was she still resented Olive for being so cold toward her. She knew—because Brock had told her—that Olive had tried to talk him out of marrying her. Olive had thought that her youngest, and favorite, son was making a mistake in marrying a simple farm girl from Highwood. Brock had laughed about it later, when they were alone.
But she hadn’t.
“I was trying to save you and Brock both a lot of heartache. You weren’t suited for each other.”
Winnie’s heart raced. This woman was unbelievable. Like a snake, she struck quickly with her venom. “You can’t know that. He loved me. And I loved him, too.”
A drop of soda spilled onto her foot. Realizing her hands were shaking, she put her glass on a nearby table. She wanted to leave. But Olive had her cornered.
And she wasn’t finished.
“You don’t have any idea what it takes to be a rancher’s wife. You couldn’t have—”
Suddenly Winnie spotted a familiar figure, a man in a dark gray suit. He was headed for the bar, but he didn’t seem to have noticed her. She put out her arm and managed to snag a bit of his sleeve.
Jackson turned.
“You wanted to dance? We’d better do it now, since I have to go home early.”
Jackson’s gaze went from her to Olive. The widowed mother of four children—three, now that Brock was gone—had two spots of red burning on her cheeks.
“We aren’t finished here, Winnie,” Olive said.
“If you want to meet my son, then I think we are.”
Winnie kept her hold on Jackson and pulled him toward the dance floor. Sensing his reluctance, she figured he didn’t like to dance.
“Sorry to drag you out here,” she said, once he’d swung her into his arms with surprising finesse. “Olive was in attack mode and I needed to escape.”
“No one does attack mode quite like Olive.”
Jackson was two-stepping like a pro—why didn’t he like dancing when he was so good at it?
She glanced up at his handsome face. His gaze was fixed across the dance floor, almost as if he didn’t want to look at her. “You two don’t get along, either, do you?”
According to Brock, when his father decided to take Jackson in under the foster-care program, Olive had been opposed to the idea.
