Fall Surprises (Seasons in Montana: Fall #4)
Chapter One | Sam
Chapter One
Sam
My knuckles whitened against the leather steering wheel as my rental car rounded the final curve toward Wintervale. The GPS chirped that I had five minutes until arrival—five minutes to prepare for the biggest career challenge of my life.
"You've got this, Sam," I muttered to myself, a habit I'd developed during my years of solo road trips to venues across the country. "The Monroe-Carrington wedding will be flawless."
The October sunset painted the Montana mountains in shades of amber and gold, a backdrop so picturesque it belonged on a postcard.
Wintervale stretched before me like something from a fairy tale—a quaint mountain town nestled in a valley, with streets lined with Victorian buildings and storefronts draped in autumn garlands and twinkling lights.
The crisp October air carried hints of woodsmoke and fallen leaves, the quintessential autumn scent that Instagram filters tried and failed to capture.
Main Street was transformed for Halloween.
Scarecrows with friendly faces stood sentinel outside shops.
Pumpkins of every size adorned doorsteps, and corn stalks framed entryways.
Shopkeepers were closing for the evening, but several waved as I passed, the kind of small-town friendliness that always felt foreign to me.
I slowed to take it all in, remembering Raven Monroe's endless Instagram posts about wanting the "quintessential autumn wedding experience." For once, a bride's social media expectations might align with reality. The town was practically begging to be photographed.
My phone buzzed with a notification. Raven had tagged Maxwell Events in another wedding countdown post: "4 days until the most epic Halloween wedding ever! @MaxwellEvents making dreams come true!" The post already had thousands of likes. The pressure weighed on my shoulders like a physical thing.
I followed the directions to the Evergreen Inn, turning down a tree-lined lane where maples showcased brilliant orange and red leaves. When the inn came into view, I actually gasped.
The Victorian mansion stood three stories tall, its cream-colored exterior accented with burgundy trim and gingerbread detailing.
A wraparound porch circled the structure, lined with rocking chairs and adorned with elaborate autumn decorations.
Jack-o'-lanterns with intricate carvings lined the steps, their warm glow welcoming in the fading light.
Fairy lights twinkled from the eaves, and a harvest wreath adorned the front door.
"This is even better than the pictures," I whispered, pulling into the designated parking area.
I caught a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror and winced at the worry lines creasing my forehead. I smoothed my brown hair back into its tight bun and adjusted my glasses. First impressions mattered, and I needed the inn's owners to see me as the consummate professional I was.
Before I could even retrieve my suitcase from the trunk, the front door opened, and a couple emerged onto the porch. A woman with dark brown hair waved enthusiastically while a small black terrier darted down the steps ahead of them, racing toward my car with excitement.
I stepped out cautiously. "Hello there."
"You must be Samantha Maxwell!" The woman bounded down the steps with the same energy as the dog. "I'm Rory Lancaster, owner of the Evergreen Inn. This is my partner, Cass Whitlock." She gestured to the tall man following behind her.
"Please, call me Sam," I said, offering my hand.
Rory ignored my outstretched palm and pulled me into a warm hug instead. "We don't shake hands in Wintervale, especially not with the woman who's about to throw the biggest event this town has seen in years!"
I froze like a startled deer before returning her hug with awkward pats, my body forgetting how to respond to genuine warmth. Unexpected hugs ranked somewhere between root canals and tax audits on my comfort scale.
The terrier circled my ankles, sniffing excitedly.
"That's Bramble," Cass explained, extending his hand in a more conventional greeting once Rory released me. "He's the unofficial mascot of the inn. Don't mind his enthusiasm—he has excellent taste in people."
"I've never had pets," I admitted, carefully reaching down to let Bramble sniff my hand. To my surprise, the little dog immediately licked my fingers and wagged his tail. "My schedule doesn't really allow for it."
"Well, Bramble will be more than happy to provide all the dog therapy you need during your stay," Rory beamed. "Now, let's get you settled. You must be exhausted after that drive from Denver."
"I'm fine, really," I assured them, reaching for my luggage.
"Nonsense." Cass intercepted, grabbing my suitcase and garment bags. "Part of the Evergreen experience is our hospitality. Rory will show you to your room, and I'll bring these up."
Too tired to argue, I followed Rory up the porch steps and into a grand foyer with a sweeping staircase. The interior was just as impressive as the exterior—polished hardwood floors, antique furniture, and seasonal decorations that managed to be elegant rather than kitschy.
"We've put you in the Maple Room," Rory explained, leading me up the stairs. "It has the best desk space for working and a lovely view of the garden where the ceremony will be held."
The thoughtfulness of this detail surprised me. "Thank you. That's exactly what I need."
The Maple Room was spacious and tastefully decorated in warm amber and russet tones reminiscent of autumn leaves.
A four-poster bed dominated one wall, while a large bay window overlooked the landscaped garden.
A writing desk was positioned to take advantage of the view, and a small sitting area with two comfortable chairs framed a decorative fireplace.
"The bathroom is through there," Rory pointed to a door. "We've stocked it with locally-made toiletries. The Wi-Fi password is on the desk, and breakfast is served from six to nine. Though our chef can accommodate other times if needed."
Cass arrived with my luggage, setting everything carefully by the closet.
"This is lovely," I said, genuinely impressed. "It’s perfect for what I need this week."
"We aim to please," Rory smiled, handing me an old-fashioned key. "This is more for tradition than security—no one locks their doors in Wintervale. But it's yours for your stay."
"The kitchen is available to you any time," Cass added. "Gus, our chef, usually prepares dinner between six and eight, but he can work around your schedule."
"I'll need to discuss the wedding menu with him tonight, if possible," I said, mentally reviewing my timeline. "Is he available?"
Rory and Cass exchanged a quick glance I couldn't interpret.
"He should be in the kitchen now," Rory replied. "Gus is... passionate about his cooking. You'll find him very talented."
There was something in her tone that made me curious, but I didn't have time to analyze it.
"We'll leave you to get settled," Cass said. "Just come down when you're ready."
After they left, I immediately began transforming the room into my mobile office. My laptop went on the desk, connected to my portable second monitor. I arranged my color-coded binders chronologically on the desk's built-in bookshelf, and pinned my master timeline to the corkboard I'd brought.
I texted Emma, my assistant back in Denver, to let her know I'd arrived safely, then opened Instagram to check Raven's latest posts.
The bride had shared three more photos since I'd left Denver—all featuring her and her sister Stormi posing with wedding-themed props and demanding that her followers guess details about the ceremony.
I sighed, seeing the hashtag #RavenTakesFlight attached to each post. With 3.
2 million YouTube subscribers and a reality TV crew documenting the wedding, this event would be scrutinized by more eyes than I could comprehend.
My business could skyrocket or implode based on the success of the next five days.
My phone rang with a FaceTime call from Raven herself. I quickly adjusted my expression and answered with my media-ready smile I'd perfected over years of handling neurotic brides.
"Sam! There you are!" Raven's heavily filtered face filled my screen, her long black hair extensions framing her features. "Tell me you've arrived and everything is going to be absolutely magical!"
"Just got here, Raven. The inn is absolutely stunning—it exceeds expectations."
"It better!" She laughed, the sound like glass breaking. "Now, you remembered my food sensitivities, right? No gluten, no dairy, no soy, no nuts, no nightshades—"
Raven's voice rose with each supposed 'catastrophe' on her list. "The napkins MUST be folded like little witch hats to fit my theme, not those totally un-inspired envelope things I saw at my cousin's wedding. And did I mention my new gluten-dairy-nightshade-oxygen sensitivity?"
"It's all in my notes," I assured her, pulling up her file on my tablet. "I'll be discussing the menu with the chef tonight."
"Perfect! And Blaze wants a special groom's cake that looks like a football helmet. Can we add that?"
I sighed inwardly. A football helmet cake—what else would a former NFL quarterback want?
I made a note, swallowing my frustration at the last-minute request. "Of course. Not a problem."
After promising to send photos of the venue and reassuring her twelve more times that everything was under control, I finally ended the call.
The familiar vise of tension tightened around my temples.
I glanced at the slim silver watch that had been my graduation gift to myself—7 PM. Time to find the kitchen and the chef.
I made my way downstairs, following the scent of something delicious cooking. The kitchen was at the back of the inn, a commercial-grade setup that maintained the historic charm of the building. The appliances were top-of-the-line but seamlessly incorporated into the vintage aesthetic.