Chapter 2
TWO
HANNAH
Two days after I arrive, the barn is hot and filled with the sharp sound of curling irons.
Sela spreads out Willa’s dress on a steamer rack, circling it and frowning at the bodice like the lace might attack her.
I’m squeezed by the window, helping Willa pin her hair.
Sela’s bobby pins keep my own auburn hair in a low bun.
“Three,” Willa says. She holds up her fingers, trembling a little. “Three hours until I sign a government form and become a Gamble forever. And I already miss my own name.”
“At least you can keep your email,” I say. “No point changing it everywhere now.”
She giggles. The nerves wash away for a second as she glances at Sela, who is now spritzing the hem with a water bottle and smoothing out invisible creases.
“Sela, it’s a prairie wedding, not a Vogue shoot,” I say.
Sela puts her hands on her hips. “Photos live online forever if anything’s off. Facebook, Pinterest—the works.”
Willa grabs my hand and squeezes. “Hannah, tell her it’s fine. You know what I like.”
“I do,” I say, and I mean it. We’ve been friends since our first day at Northwestern. We met in the middle of all that chaos, and life hasn’t really slowed down since.
I wander the barn while Sela fusses, touching the hand-tied bouquets in mason jars—sunflowers, purple verbena, and bits of Indian paintbrush.
Sela’s always been easy to read. She likes people who are honest and direct, who’ll tell you if your eyeliner is smudged or your ex is no good.
I used to wish I could keep people at a distance like she does, but I’m not made that way.
Willa’s mom sweeps in with a tray of scones—cheese and jalapeno, which she claims is the secret to a lasting marriage.
She air-kisses everyone and tells us, “You girls should consider freezing your eggs. Even if you’re not thinking babies now.
” She says it with all the assertiveness of someone who’s researched IVF success rates for fun.
Sela makes a face but doesn’t argue. She just smooths the skirt again.
My phone buzzes. There are two new voicemails from a client in Denver, both marked urgent. I feel a twinge of guilt, but I put my phone away. Today belongs to Willa. Work can wait for once.
Sela leans in. “I’d never live here. I looked for espresso and ended up at a coffee shop. Cotton—behind the counter—had no oat milk. I asked for almond milk. He told me to milk my own almonds.”
“Cotton Mercer is harmless,” Willa answers while curling her lashes. “His mom owns the coffee shop, and he’s probably helping her out so she can get her hair done in time for the wedding. Nothing wrong with a man who takes care of his mama.”
Sela almost smiles. “He should remind his mama that some people can’t do dairy.”
Willa’s voice goes soft from the makeup chair. “The stillness got me. I didn’t even know I was looking for it.”
She catches my eye in the mirror and holds it a beat too long.
“You’ll visit, though. For the holidays, at least?”
Her question sounds simple, but I know what she really means.
She’s wondering if our friendship will last with the distance, if I’ll just fade into her past. I know because I’ve been avoiding the same thought.
I say, “Of course,” but I don’t admit the truth: part of me doesn’t want to leave after three days. That surprises me.
I help Willa into her dress, holding out the sleeves for her shaky arms. The dress is simple, with no crystals or corset, just soft silk and tiny buttons down the back. Sela zips it up and steps back to check her work. We’re all holding our breath.
Willa spins slowly, the dress catching the sunlight in soft blurs. “So?” she asks.
“Perfect,” I say, and it’s true.
Just as the last word leaves my lips, a voice calls for me from outside. One of the farmhands needs help carrying beverage tubs; my shoes are flat enough to pitch in, so I promise Willa I'll be right back and duck out the side door, where the early sun is already blinding.
Rhett Calder is at the loading dock, twisting a bottle opener in his hand. He looks different than he did last night—button-down shirt instead of a tee, hair combed but still somehow wild. He loads the last of the sparkling waters into ice and wipes his hands on his jeans.
“Morning,” he says.
“Don’t you ever take a day off?” I ask.
He grins, slow and easy. “Never.”
I help him lift a cooler to the bar. We finish the job in just a few minutes. Each time our hands touch, he looks me in the eye. There’s no smirk or swagger, just a steady look, like he’s trying to figure me out.
He starts repacking napkins, then says, “Willa tells me you’re a matchmaker.”
I nod, sorting straws. “It’s a job, like any other.”
“You like it?”
“I’m good at it,” I say, and it’s not bragging. I’ve set up thirteen marriages in the past two years. They’re all still together.
He’s quiet for a second. “Most people just hope other people figure it out.”
“In Denver, you wait for lightning. Sometimes you have to schedule a storm.”
He grins again. “And in Sagebrush?”
“In Sagebrush, you need to convince people storms even exist.”
He laughs, low and real, and I catch Sela’s voice echoing through the barn. The setup is already done, so I wipe my hands and head back inside.
The next hour rushes by in a blur: last-minute lint rolls, a burst of nerves when Beau nearly loses his boutonniere, and three more “emergency” calls for emotional support.
When it’s finally time, I walk Willa to the barn entrance and squeeze her hand before taking my place at the front as maid of honor.
The wedding isn’t fancy, but every seat is full. In the doorway, I see men in pearl snap shirts and women in flowered dresses, and for a second, it almost feels like a homecoming. Willa holds back tears as her dad walks her down the aisle.
When Rhett stands next to Beau as best man, he notices me watching. For a moment, his eyes meet mine. It’s not a leer, just a steady, searching look, like he’s trying to guess which of us will cry first.
I almost do when Beau says, “I liked you before you liked me. And I loved you first, so you can’t ever catch up.” His voice is strong, never trembling. Willa’s reply is so earnest that it makes every single aunt dab her eyes in unison. Even Sela clears her throat.
Afterward, the barn erupts with music and the soft thunder of boots on the dance floor. Sela corrals me for a glass of cider, and I nurse it while watching the new couple move around their guests, radiant.
“See anything you like?” Sela asks, nudging me toward the crowd of single men by the beer keg.
“I see a lot of hats,” I say. “More hats than heads, maybe.”
“I won’t leave until you dance at least one song,” she says. “You promised.”
I flash a glare. “You’re more invested in my love life than your own.”
She shrugs, straightening her skirt. “You’re my only interesting friend at the moment.”
But she’s secretly surveying the crowd herself. I see her eyes rest on Cotton Mercer, who is leaning against the wall like a retired outlaw, nursing a spiked lemonade. He catches her looking, and she snaps her gaze away.
“He asked if I wanted to see his saddle collection,” she whispers. “Like, the actual saddles.”
“How many does a person need?”
“Eleven,” she replies. “He named them.”
I shudder. “Rural men are a different breed.”
Later, after another round, the music shifts and couples start filtering onto the floor. Rhett appears by my side, two glasses in hand.
“I heard you’re avoiding all the eligible bachelors,” he says. “That’s going to hurt Willa’s feelings. I think she wants someone to tempt you to stay.”
I take the drink. “I’m just here for the buffet.” Banter never comes easy to me.
He sips his own. “If you were matchmaking for yourself, what would you look for?”
I hold my glass, cold and sweating. “Someone who reads the room.”
He laughs, but I notice he stands a little differently.
His hands are strong and sun-browned, and he has a quiet confidence.
He moves like someone who’s used to fixing fences, never in a hurry.
In the silence, I find myself looking for signs, not sure if I want him to come closer.
I catch a hint of citrus from his aftershave, which brings me back to the moment.
“Would you dance with me?” he says, quietly.
“If I must,” I say, slipping my hand into his. The song is slow, and he’s careful with the first steps, as if he knows I’m not used to being led. I take a breath and let myself fall into the gentle rhythm.
We don’t talk. The night is warm, and I rest my cheek against his shirt. He smells of hay and citrus, and there’s no space left for nerves. He holds me just tight enough that it doesn’t feel ordinary.
Halfway through the song, he says, “If you ever want a reason to stay, I know a few people who’d like to hire you.”
“You mean Sagebrush County is desperate for romance?” I tease.
He grins. “Desperate for someone to tell us it’s worth the trouble.”
The last chords play, and I step back. Near the door, Sela is watching, but she gives me a thumbs-up instead of a smirk.
As the dance winds down, I walk with Rhett to the edge of the barn, where the noise softens to a hush. Out under the stars, the air is colder, sharp with the scent of sagebrush and wind. He doesn’t say anything. If he’s nervous, he doesn’t show it.
A hush falls between us, more comfortable than before.
At the far end of the property, the sky is endless and black, dusted with stars. He stops, turns to face me.
“Can I ask you something professional?” he says.
I laugh a little. “At a wedding? At night?”
“Best time.” He looks out at the dark. “I’ve got friends who could use what you do. Half the county, maybe. You’ve seen the ratio in there.” He nods back toward the barn. “More hats than heads.”
I smile at my own line coming back to me. “Are you asking me to take on clients?”
“I’m asking you to meet me tomorrow at Sagebrush Coffee House. We can talk it over and see if it’s worth your time.” He says it plainly, with no hidden motive that I can see.
I look out at the dark spread of land, the lights from the barn throwing gold down the hill. I think about Denver, my apartment, my calendar. Then I think about Willa’s question: *You’ll come back for holidays, right?*
“What time?” I ask.
“Ten,” he says. “I’ll buy the coffee.”
We walk back, his boots and my heels grinding the gravel in time. At the barn, Willa meets me at the door and pulls me into a hug, her face bright with that new, settled kind of happiness.
“Thanks for coming out,” she says.
I steal a look back at Rhett, already disappearing into the crowd. Part-time, I think. It could work part-time. “Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”