The Cowboy Worth the Trouble

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Cecelia Williams was fairly certain she was the only guest at this wedding rooting for the bride and groom without ever having met either one of them.

Well. That wasn’t entirely true.

“Smile, Cecelia,” her father murmured at her side. “We’re being gracious.”

Gracious. That was the word Roxanne Carter had used, too, when the invitation arrived.

We may be on opposite sides of a zoning map, Reginald, but I’ve known your people for thirty years, and I won’t have it said that I left you sulking in a hotel.

Her father had grumbled about optics and then accepted, because attending the wedding of the town’s favorite son was the cheapest goodwill money couldn’t buy.

So here they were. Guests of the aunt of the bride, tolerated on a technicality.

Cecelia had worn a simple sundress and her boots, and it turned out to be the right instinct.

Half the guests looked like Rocky Ridge and the other half looked like they’d stepped off a runway.

Roxanne’s people, faces Cecelia recognized from a hundred charity galas.

None of them gave her a second glance. Out here, in a sundress, she was nobody at all.

She was surprised by how much she liked it.

The ceremony had been lovely. She could admit that even from the last row of chairs. It wasn’t until the groom turned to walk his bride back down the aisle that Cecelia’s breath caught.

She knew that face.

The cowboy from the lodge. The one who had come through the lobby doors like a storm front, demanding to see her father, all fury and worn boots.

The one who’d let her talk him down over a cup of coffee he never touched.

Tate Dennison. She’d wondered, once or twice since, whether he’d gotten anything he wanted.

Apparently, he had. He was looking at his bride like they were the only people in the world.

Cecelia smiled into her lemonade and decided that weddings made her sentimental.

It was later, after the chairs were cleared for dancing, somewhere between the toasts and the cake, that he was across the lawn again and her heart turned over. Because the groom was on the dance floor with his wife.

And the man standing by the barn, hat in his hands, was wearing the same face.

There were two of them.

Identical, and not. She couldn’t have explained the not. This one stood unhurried, taking in the party as a man takes in weather rolling in. The cowboy from the lobby had burned hot. This one had a much lower flash point.

He was steady.

She was still staring when a bridesmaid grabbed his arm and towed him off toward the photographer, and Cecelia turned away, cheeks warm, grateful nobody had caught her at it.

“Cecelia.” Her father was at her elbow, phone already in hand. “We’ve made our appearance.”

Down the lawn, the best man was being arranged into photographs, an arm around a laughing sister, somebody’s hat shoved onto his head. As if he felt her watching, he glanced up and scanned the crowd.

She would never know what made her step back into the shade of the tent, out of his line of sight.

You’re the enemy’s daughter, she reminded herself. There’s no version of this where you walk over and introduce yourself.

She didn’t let herself look back on the way to the cars.

The wedding was behind her now, and Cecelia was still thinking about that lawn, which was ridiculous, and she knew it. She went for a run anyway.

Her father’s company built resorts in places like Rocky Ridge.

City comforts with a mountain view, for people who’d pay a great deal to breathe this air for a week and then go back home to their rat race.

There was a parcel out past the ranches that he’d had his eye on for months, and the town had caught wind of it back in the summer and thrown a fit.

Every hearing since had been postponed, rescheduled, or tossed out on a technicality.

Now the council was talking about scheduling another meeting so the community could air its grievances. Of course it was.

What was supposed to be a two-week stay had stretched into something that looked a lot more like indefinite, and her father had insisted she stay out of the limelight while things were in process.

She’d asked him again this morning about starting her own firm. He’d given her the answer he always gave. Not yet. She didn’t have the experience. He was protecting her. She loved him for being honest, and she was tired of it, and running was the only place the two things fit together.

Was it confusing that she was more upset about her father’s disappointment in her than about how he’d uprooted her life so they could work this out in person?

Probably. She loved him. She respected how he saw what he wanted and went after it, and he’d inspired that same drive in her.

She only wished he was the kind of man who could give her a little push and tell her she’d soar if she spread her wings wide enough.

She started her playlist and pushed harder. He kept pace anyway. Mistakes were made. Something fell through the cracks. Do better. Like it was her fault that people paid attention to what happened where they lived.

She stumbled on that thought and caught herself against a tree with both hands. She stood there breathing in and out until the trail was only a trail again. Then she walked the rest of the way back.

When she got back to the lodge, there was a note on the desk in her room. Apparently, her father needed to meet with the town council.

Without her.

That didn’t sound very smart. Her father knew better than to go into a meeting like that without her. One wrong word and they’d both be shoved out the door. She was the one who knew how to read people. She was the one who gave him the tips he needed to woo the more influential people.

Irritation pushed her into the shower and to change her clothes so she could head to town.

Running had done nothing to blow off the steam that had been building inside her since she’d gotten up this morning.

She had the strangest urge to defy her father’s wishes and go to town.

There was a lot that could be learned if someone knew how to listen for it.

Maybe she could discover how to get the locals off their backs.

Then their trip would come to a close and they’d be off to bigger and better things.

Ignoring the twinge in her heart that was already threatening to drag her under at leaving this place, Cecelia pushed her way out of the lodge and headed to the hub of Rocky Ridge.

She’d made sure to bring jeans, but even she could tell they weren’t exactly what the people here wore. Everywhere she went, she was witness to the class differences between the lifestyle her father had offered her and what the people here led.

There was no judgment on her part.

If anything, she disliked how much she stood out.

Her carefully styled dark hair was probably impractical when it came to working outdoors, especially when it came to inclement weather like wind.

Her makeup was perfection, and she wished she hadn’t put so much effort into it.

The blouse she’d paired with her jeans was silk and that was probably her biggest mistake.

Cecelia popped into a boutique clothing store the first chance she got. The gal behind the counter smiled warmly at her. But her eyes dipped to take in her whole attire, and she knew what she was looking at.

A tourist.

And the tight line of her mouth said everything she wouldn’t.

You’re an outsider, but even outsider money has value.

When had Cecelia gotten to be so jaded?

She sighed as she thumbed through the racks of button-down shirts until she found a shirt that wouldn’t make her stick out like a sore thumb. Then she picked out a pair of boots that didn’t look like they’d come from the runway during Fashion Week.

Cecelia paid for her new belongings then gestured toward the dressing rooms. “Mind if I change?”

The shop girl shook her head. “Go for it.”

Once she was more comfortable, Cecelia headed back out onto the street that ran through the middle of town. She drank in all the sights greedily.

There was a bakery with the most delicious desserts on display in the large windows. Brownies had to be the favorite around here because their display was already halfway gone. But there was so much more being offered and Cecelia made a mental note to swing back around to pick up a box for later.

She passed by a diner named the Sip ’n Shop. The windows had been painted to advertise their current special along with some fun seasonal pictures of animals.

Cecelia couldn’t decide which looked better for dinner options.

There was the barbecue place or the steakhouse.

Seeing as she’d be in town for longer than expected, she knew she’d get to try the food at both places.

A small town like this probably didn’t deliver, though, so she’d have to work out a good time to eat there.

Her steps slowed as she stopped outside Montana Jewels.

New York wasn’t without its glitz and glam.

There were several jewelers that people flocked to and all because of the name that came along with those bracelets or earrings.

Montana Jewels might not have the same kind of reputation that a place like Tiffany’s boasted, but that didn’t stop them from offering some pretty magnificent pieces.

Every piece was handcrafted by Montana artists, or that’s what the logo on the window said.

She stared at the wedding ring display with wonder. Most were detailed and delicate, and she couldn’t imagine the hours of intense work that had gone into them. Cecelia saw one that had rubies set all the way around the band. Even though it was a wedding band, she was considering trying it on.

Someone inside moved, drawing Cecelia’s attention. She blushed then as the pretty store owner gave her a little wave. She’d been thinking about going inside, and now that she’d been seen, she felt compelled to go in to browse a little more.

“Hi,” Cece said as she walked into the store.

“Welcome. I’m Suzannah. Anything special you’re looking for?”

“Not really. I’m in town for business and just checking out the downtown area.” Cece smiled and reminded herself to not share too much information. Small towns had gossip pipelines that could get her into trouble.

“Oh, well, take your time. Let me know if you want me to take anything out for you. And the earrings on the table over there are on sale.” Suzannah nodded and went to the showcase in the middle and started rearranging a few of the trays.

Eventually, Cece chose a pair of turquoise earrings and took them to the counter to pay for them. Suzannah put them in a pretty little blue bag and invited her to come back anytime.

She walked out of the jewelry shop and wandered to the other shops farther down the street.

One was a saddle crafting shop, which made sense for a town full of cowboys.

There were saddles on display among other pieces she could see through the window.

And then she saw an antique store that practically called out to Cecelia and she went inside to take a look.

She’d always been a sucker for a good piece of furniture. Places in New York didn’t exactly offer the rustic antiquities that this shop boasted.

Cecelia wandered through the rows of furniture, a smile tugging at her lips.

The shop was all cedar and spice, not musty at all like she would have expected for old pieces.

There was a decent amount of sun coming in, which added to the whole ambiance.

It was like she’d stepped back in time, at least when she was taking a look at the older pieces.

Her fingers trailed along the edges of a particularly beautiful piece until her eyes landed on the wall of books. Then without thinking, she strode straight for it.

These weren’t the kinds of books one would find in a run-of-the-mill bookstore. No, these were all lesser-known authors. Being an avid reader, Cecelia prided herself on how much literature she consumed on a regular basis. She reached for one that stood out and flipped it to read the back.

It had to be written by an independent author. She would bet money on it. Her eyes flicked over the shelves and her smile broadened.

“They’re all from around this side of the country. Most of the books are written by authors local to Billings and surrounding towns.”

Cecelia jumped and whirled to find a pretty woman with pale, almost white-blond hair. Her eyes sparkled with amusement and interest, and her smile was genuine, nothing like the one the boutique shopkeeper had offered her.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

Cecelia stiffened. How many tourists wandered through town? She really didn’t want to stick out that much. “No, I’m not. But I may be sticking around for a while.” She put the book on the shelf where she’d pulled it. “Local authors, huh?”

The woman nodded, turning her attention to the shelves. Then she reached for a book and placed it in Cecelia’s hands. “Here. This one is a favorite of mine. It’s on the house.”

Cecelia glanced down at the book written by a Wendy Gilley. She traced over the cover with her fingertips. “I couldn’t possibly—”

“You can,” the woman said with a wink. “I own this shop, so what I say goes.”

Cecelia relaxed further. “That’s sweet. Thank you.” She glanced around the shop again. “You have a lovely store. I might have to purchase something to send home when I leave.”

The woman brightened. “A girl after my own heart. We need souvenirs as much as the next person, right?” She leaned on the shelf. “You said you’re staying a while?”

Cecelia hugged her book. “That’s right.”

Holding out her hand, the woman gestured with curled fingertips. “Give me your phone.”

“What? Why?” Cecelia stammered.

“I’m going to give you my number. If you’re going to be here for a while, you’ll want to know where the best places are to get the full experience.” She winked then wiggled her fingers again. “Give me your phone.”

“Cece.” She mumbled it, handing her phone over even though she probably should have known better.

The woman grinned. “Cece. Cute. I’m Wendy.” She dipped her attention to the phone and typed in her number then handed it back. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other around.”

It wasn’t until Cecelia was back out on the street, stunned by her interaction with Wendy, that she turned the book over. The picture of the author on the back looked an awful lot like the Wendy of the antique store.