A Cowboy Worth the Wait

1. Chapter One

Chapter One

ELLA

As days go, I’ve had worse.

But not many.

The morning starts so well. Mist hanging low over the mountains, birds serenading my walk to the honeymoon cabin. Shit, I’ve maybe even got a spring in my step, boots crunching across the dew-tipped grass. The morning is idyllic. Too idyllic. Nothing that starts this well ends anywhere good.

I’m not carefree. That’s not the Ella Lockhart style.

The usual worries are all still there. Will Carla flip out at the unfinished rustic charm of Something Blue?

Will the to-do list I wrote, fueled by three large coffees, slip out of my pocket and leave me stranded?

Has Carla turned into Bridezilla since our last meeting?

Lost in my head like this, I’m the last thing from ready. But I’m not sure anything could prepare a person for opening the door to do her final checks and finding a stranger cock-deep in the bride.

The smell reaches me before the understanding does. Coconut sunscreen out of place in a cabin in June.

Fuck.

I step back from the door, keeping my fingertips on the wood so it doesn’t click shut. Through the gap I can see Carla riding the sexy stranger like she’s chasing eight seconds. My stomach turns.

Fuuuuck.

Carla was always meant to be the first bride to use the honeymoon cabin, sure. But it should be Ben Callahan in that bed with her. On their wedding night. There’s still three days until the wedding, and whoever’s in that bed sure as shit isn’t the groom.

What the actual fuck?

The bed frame slams against the wall I painted myself last week.

I picture the scuffs on the fresh powder pink and wince.

What’s going on? Do they figure that in a cabin on Blue Ridge Ranch, normal rules of human decency no longer apply?

What kind of woman thinks sleeping with another man the week of her wedding is okay?

Turns out a Bridezilla is the least of my worries.

I creep back through the cabin and out the front door.

On the porch, I drop onto the step and throw my head in my hands.

This can’t be happening to me. I’ve worked my goddamn butt off to get this far, and that asshole in there is about to ruin everything.

And Ben. Poor, lovely, gentle Ben. What the fuck am I going to do about Ben Callahan?

How’s it going? Is Carla there yet? If you get a sec, send some pics, I’d love to see, and Carla will probably forget ;-)

I stare at the screen, taking a second to process Ben’s text. He’s excited at the thought of me showing Carla around the honeymoon cabin and the Tobacco Barn. He wants photos. He wants updates.

Meanwhile, the woman he’s about to marry is thirty feet away, in the honeymoon bed, fucking some other guy.

My knees click as I get up. I give the cabin one last look before I stumble away. Grandma’s wildflowers are in full bloom, and with the Smoky Mountains and the creek winding below it, you couldn’t build a more romantic setting if you tried.

Grandma Evelyn.

Thank God she isn’t alive to see how my first-ever wedding is going. She’d be so disappointed.

What this morning needs is cinnamon rolls. I find my truck and head down the valley toward Mom’s bakery in town. It’s the most comforting place in the state, and the place my sisters and I have always run to when life sucks. And life sure sucks right now.

May’s Mountain Bakery already has a line out front, and Mom hasn’t even opened the doors. We’re heading into tourist season, and the place has come a long way from the hidden gem only locals used to know about.

“Ella,” Mom says as I come through the back door. She rubs her flour-covered hands on her apron and frowns at me. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be walking your bride around the place?”

“She’s not here yet,” I lie. “Figured I’d grab a coffee while I wait.”

“You can have your coffee,” Mom says, “but you’re gonna earn it. Get that batch of cinnamon rolls out of the oven while I open up, will you?”

“Sure thing.”

“And don’t fret.” She flips the sign from closed to open and smiles. “Faith’ll be here any minute to help, so I won’t keep you.”

Like she’s been summoned, my youngest sister comes barreling through the back door, red-faced, hair falling out of its braid. “Sorry, Mom. Got held up with the horses.”

Mom frowns. “Long as you’re not pushing yourself too hard, Faith.”

Faith rolls her eyes and shakes her head, pulling on her apron.

She got lucky. Mom’s slight frame, Mom’s dark features.

It makes her look more fragile than she is, and much as Mom’s fussing drives her up the wall, I’d take that over the curves and freckles I pulled from Dad’s side.

“Big boned,” a kid called me once in high school. I’ve never forgotten it.

The bakery’s packed with tourists by the time I’ve laid out the cinnamon rolls and made my coffee.

“Best head out and find this bride.”

“Sure thing, honey.” Mom leans in and kisses my cheek. “Grandma would be so proud of you.”

I swallow the lump in my throat, carry my coffee out to the truck, and drive back up the valley to the Tobacco Barn. Even if I ignore the impossible position I’ve been put in, my bride in bed with the wrong guy, there’s a long list of things I could’ve done better.

The two-month cushion I built in with the builders should’ve been plenty.

Right until their firm went under. As it is, the decking still needs replacing, the window frames are still spongy, and no amount of white paint hides the fact that some of the timber cladding has to go.

The builders have churned up the ground outside the Tobacco Barn and left me with no time to re-plant the gorgeous wildflowers their diggers destroyed.

The best I could do was drag Grandma’s old washtub planters across the bare patches and hope nobody looks down.

I’ve failed. And I haven’t even finished my first booking.

My phone pings. Carla.

We’re here!! Where are you?

I want to lob the phone over my shoulder, walk off into the mountains and never look back. Instead, I type out a reply.

I’m at the Tobacco Barn. Follow the track past the Main House and the cabins. The builders are gone, so you can park right out front.

The builders are gone. Not because they finished the work that should’ve been done in plenty of time for the wedding day.

Now Carla’s about to come face to face with the reality of her wedding venue.

And I have to look her in the eye, having just seen a whole lot more of her than I ever wanted to.