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Travis held up his hands in surrender. “I’m not trying to put any one out, sir. I’ve just come a long way is all.”
“So did I. Do you know how far away we had to park? Why, this place is busier than the Dairy Queen on senior citizen night.”
“They give free ice cream to anyone over sixty-five,” one of the women added.
“And whipped cream.”
“That sounds real nice,” Travis said. “But I just need to talk to my—“
“Is there a problem here?” The soft, feminine voice slid into his ear and cut him off mid-sentence. He turned toward the female who appeared on his left, her hands on her hips, her blue eyes drilling into him.
She was at least a head shorter than he was, with long, blond hair that had been swept up into a tight, no frills ponytail. She wore a knee-length black skirt and a plain white button up blouse. Sensible black pumps. Boring.
That’s what he told himself. No legs up to here or breasts out to there.
At the same time, she had the most incredible eyes he’d ever seen. Pale blue with just a hint of green around the edges. Color so translucent that, for a split second, he saw only his own reflection in their sparkling depths.
No thoughts. None of her personal stats. Nothing. Not even her name.
Before Travis could delve deeper, she shifted her attention to the old man.
“What’s going on, Mr. Crabtree?”
“This whippersnapper is trying to cut in line,” the man declared. “But Miranda promised me I could have the first picture. I cain’t stand for long without my arthritis acting up.”
“Mine, too,” a woman added. “I’ve got seconds.”
“And I’ve got a corn on my big toe that’s aching something fierce so I get to go third.”
The pale blue eyes darkened just a hint, killing the reflection that had him so mesmerized and opening the door so that he could see straight into her thoughts.
Her name was Holly Simms. Mid-twenties. She was a wedding planner who loved dogs, Reeses’ Peanut Butter cups and her job. Except when she had to deal with stubborn guests or a lying, cheating, line-cutting cowboy.
Ouch. “I wasn’t trying to cut in front of anyone.” He shrugged. “I’m just here to talk to the groom.”
“And we’re here to talk to the bride,” Arbor added. “She promised us pictures and I’m not moving ‘til I get my picture.”
“Me either,” a woman added.
“Neither am I.”
“You’ll all get your pictures. I promise.” Holly turned on Travis. “Excuse me? What did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t say, but it’s Travis. Travis Braddock.”
When her gaze sparked, he added, “I’m the groom’s brother.”
Her mind seemed to rifle for a memory before recognition dawned and she frowned. “The one who didn’t RSVP?”
“My job keeps me really busy.”
Too busy for your own brother’s wedding?
The question rang loud and clear in her thoughts and guilt niggled at him.
“We’re not very close.” He wasn’t sure why he told her. The words simply tumbled from his lips before he could stop them and he stiffened. “Listen, I don’t want to cause any trouble. I just wanted to say a few words to my brother.”
“He and Miranda are going to host a receiving line when they’re finished with pictures. I’m sure you can wish him well then. In the meantime, you should move on to the reception area.” Otherwise these seniors are going to kick your firm, tight, totally amazing buns all over this ranch and I’m going to let them.
Her thought echoed through his head and a strange sense of warmth stole through him. A grin tugged at his lips.
She motioned toward the massive tents set up just beyond the barn. “You can have something to drink and a bite to eat while you’re waiting.”
His groin tightened at the suggestion and his gaze shifted to her creamy white throat. He could see the faint pulse beneath her skin and his fangs tingled.
“There’s a full menu,” she continued. “Swedish meatballs. Pigs-in-a-blanket. Mini chimichangas. Southwest egg rolls. I’m sure you can find something you like.”
“I already have,” he said, staring deep into her eyes.
He expected to see passion flare in the blue depths, her lips to part, her body to lean toward his. Particularly since she thought his buns were firm and tight and totally amazing. That’s the way it always was when he focused his complete attention on a woman. She couldn’t help but fall under his spell.
Her eyes widened and then she blinked. Once. Twice. As if she couldn’t quite believe she’d heard him correctly. “What did you just say?”
“I said I already found something I like.” As anxious as he’d been to talk to Cody, he knew he wasn’t getting anywhere near his baby brother for the time being. Which meant he might as well slow down and kill a few minutes.
On top of that, he really was hungry. And it wasn’t a Swedish meatball or any of the other things she’d just rattled off he was craving. He’d been in such a hurry to get to Texas that he hadn’t even stopped to feed. “I like you, sugar.”
You.
Now he would see the flare of desire, the physical proof that she wanted him …
She stiffened and Travis knew in a glaring instant that she wasn’t going to fall all over him the way other women did. She was stronger than most. Determined. Different.
And damned if he didn’t like it.
2
WAIT A SECOND.
Wait just a cotton-pickin’ second.
Holly Simms shook her head and tried to clear the cobwebs from her brain. No way had she heard this cowboy say that he wanted her.
A real, balls-to-the-bull cowboy.
Her brain snagged on that all-important fact as she noted the worn tips of his black boots, the soft, molded jeans holding tight to his thighs, the smell of leather and fresh air that clung to him. She knew cowboys. She’d almost married one. But then her very own Mr. Tall, Dark & Irresistible had stood her up in front of God, the Skull Creek Cattleman’s Association and the entire Ladies Bingo club. The wedding had been called off and she’d been stuck with a six tier red velvet wedding cake to eat all by her lonesome.
She’d gained ten pounds thanks to her low-down sneaky rat of an ex-fiancé and learned a valuable lesson. Namely, that she was more cut out to plan a wedding than actually participate in one.
She’d spent the past three years as Skull Creek’s resident wedding planner. She’d orchestrated over one hundred ceremonies, overseeing everything from seating charts and bags of birdseed to sit down dinners and cages of live butterflies. She’d booked disc jockeys and ordered cakes and she’d even called in Marty and Serena, the 2010 Texas brisket cooking champions, to make an appearance at the Morgan reception last June. Marty and Serena had cooked all the food on-site over a live grill—much to the bride and groom’s delight—and handed out bottles of homemade Serena Sauce as wedding favors. The event had been a huge success and she’d even got a mention in the What’s Up Y’all? section of the Skull Creek Gazette. A huge coup that had doubled her business. Well, that and the fact that Eliza MacDonald, the eighty-eight-year-old owner of her only competition, From Courtin’ to Cuddlin', had needed a double hip replacement and been forced into retirement.
Holly had been busy ever since, giving the couples of Skull Creek the happily-ever-after she, herself, would never have.
Her great-aunt Tootie had tried to warn her.
The old woman had always said there were only two types of women in the world. The kind who were doomed to settle down, get married and have babies and the lucky few who were actually meant to avoid all three and have some real fun. Tootie’s definition of fun involved lots of wild parties, single cowboys and plenty of one-night stands.
The Simms women? They tended to fit into the second category. Aunt Tootie had avoided matrimony like the plague and spent her life sowing one wild oat after another. The few Simms women who tried to break with tradition and go the happily married route ended up divorced like Holly’s own mother (five times as a matter of fact) and her three aunts. Not one of Holly’s female relatives had ever had a long lasting relationship except Holly’s Aunt Celia, but that was with a pet poodle named Sassafrass.
Bottom line, Holly simply wasn’t the marrying kind. She had a pre-determined path. One that didn’t involve his and her monogrammed towels.
She knew that now. She’d accepted it. She’d even joined an online group of women committed to overcoming their addiction to falling in love. As a full-fledged Love Buster, Holly had given up her childhood dreams of wedded bliss and decided to focus on living out her most wild and wicked fantasies.
But that was a little hard to do all by her lonesome.
She was a wedding planner. Translation? She scared the bejesus out of every bachelor in town. They were convinced she only had marriage on her mind and so they all kept their distance. Since her moment of public humiliation at the altar, the only fun Holly had involved a case of batteries and a vibrator named Big Ben.
Which meant that no way had she heard this hunk of testosterone correctly.
She licked her lips and noticed the way his gaze followed the motion. Her stomach hollowed out and her heartbeat thundered in her ears.
“Would you, um, mind repeating what you just—” she started to ask, but Evan chose that moment to rattle over her headset.
“I hate to tell you this, but we’ve got a tiny little problemo with the PA system in the reception tent.”
Evan Valentine was her twenty-six-year-old protégé and a die-hard romantic. He’d come to her last year after a hand full of various temp jobs and a six month online course on how to be a party planner. He was young, creative and hopelessly in love with his high school sweetheart, a once-upon-a-time quarterback named Bob.
“I like—” the hunk of testosterone said, but he was drowned out when Evan jumped in. “I told you not to hire that DJ. Seriously, what sort of lunatic plays the Chicken Dance at a PETA event?”
“Could you excuse me for just a sec,” she held up a quick finger to Hot and Hunky before turning to blurt into her headset, “What are you talking about?”
“The disc jockey that yours truly told you not to hire is incompetent. His PA system doesn’t work. It’s completely dead and the natives are getting restless.”
“And that’s a tiny problem?”
“When you compare it to the fact that there are people starving in Third world countries, the ozone layer is slowly depleting and Bob’s parents refuse to include me in the family Christmas card. Not that I’m crying over it, mind you. I know that if I just hang in there, they’ll eventually see how hopelessly in love we are and welcome me into the family with open arms. Why, I bet they even ask me to pick the background for next year’s card …”
Evan went on about red versus green while Holly tried to calm the sudden pounding of her heart. She stiffened, determined to ignore the fingers of heat dancing up and down her spine. She could feel Mr. Testosterone behind her, his gaze on her back.
Watching.
Waiting.
Wanting.
She ditched the last thought, gave her hormones a quick shake and tried to concentrate. “Where’s the DJ now?”
“The last time I saw him he was running for the bathroom. He said he ate the enchilada special for lunch at the diner and now he’s regretting it.”
Her heart jumped into her throat and she swallowed it back down. Easy. Calm. She’d been down this path before. Unexpected situations were par for the course when it came to wedding planning. The key was to keep her head and think. “Get him an Alka Seltzer and meet me in the reception tent.”
“You think that’s going to help?”
“It can’t hurt.” She clicked the off button and turned back to face the megalicious cowboy standing behind her. She would talk to him, get everything straight and if he truly had said what she thought he’d said, then maybe …
The thought faded as she found herself staring at the empty spot where he’d been standing.
Her gaze swept the crowd, but he was nowhere to be seen. Proof beyond a doubt that her imagination had kicked into overdrive thanks to her deprived hormones.
I like you.
Yeah, sure.
She gave herself a great big mental shake, turned on her heel and went to find the MIA disc jockey.
“I’M SURPRISED YOU had the balls to show up,” Brent said as he shoved Travis up against the backside of the barn.
Travis blinked and stared at his younger brother. One minute he’d been admiring the very attractive rear end of Cody’s wedding planner, and the next, he’d been gripped by the collar and whisked away at preternatural speed by the vampire in front of him.
Green eyes so much like his own stared back at him. “Hello to you, too.”
The green shifted and Brent’s gaze fired a bright, vivid red. “If you’re here to start trouble, you can forget it. I’m not letting you screw this up for Cody. No arguing tonight.” The red flickered and anger sizzled in the air surrounding them. “I mean it.”
“Easy.” Travis held up his hands. “I’m not here to start anything. I just came to talk.”
“You really expect me to believe that?”
He didn’t. The last time he’d been face to face with his brothers, he’d blamed them for the massacre that had taken their family.
But he’d been wrong.
Travis eyed his brother. “Where’s Rose?”
Silence stretched between them for a long moment before Brent relaxed his grip just a little. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That I don’t know.”
“You’re lying.”
“Believe what you want.” He shrugged. “I don’t know jack about her. That’s Cody’s bomb to drop and he’ll drop it when he’s good and ready. And I can promise you it’s not right now. We’re in the middle of pictures, for Christ’s sake.” Agitation washed over him as the photographer’s voice echoed in the distance. His grip loosened. “Listen, if you want to talk, we’ll talk. But later.”
He wanted to argue, but then Brent disappeared as quickly as he’d first appeared, leaving Travis no choice but to bide his time until the photographer finished.
He straightened his shirt and started back around the barn. His attention shifted to the huge white tent that towered in the far distance before he chanced a glance at the spot where he’d last seen Holly Simms talking on her headset. She was nowhere in sight and damned if that didn’t bother him. Not that he expected her to hang around, waiting for him. She undoubtedly thought he’d ditched her on purpose.
A damned fine idea.
