Unplanned Afterglow

CHAPTER ONE

Bryce

Ikick the toe of my dusty boot into the gravel and huff out a breath.

I’m not usually on edge about guest arrivals, but today my skin feels scratchy under my T-shirt and flannel.

The August heat isn’t helping either, and I push up my sleeves until they catch at the elbows, clenching my hands into fists.

A short line of cars turns down the drive to Monarch Ranch, and I inhale the fresh mountain air before it gets clogged with dust from under their tires.

I haven’t properly met anyone from this wedding party. Though the bride, Jenna Kole, seemed nice enough in our initial emails. But then she passed the reins to her older sister Leanne—the woman I refer to in my head as sister-zilla—and it’s been a constant tug of war between us since.

We’ve been at odds on every decision, and if by some miracle we managed to agree, she’d change her stance out of spite.

Just yesterday, she sent me an updated seating plan with every table in a slightly different location.

I’ve never struggled to deal with a client the way I have her.

I swear she’s worse than even the more… difficult brides I’ve dealt with as the ranch’s event coordinator.

For the better part of six months, the enmity between us—all through email, mind you—has only escalated, so the prospect of finally meeting her in person is pushing my blood pressure through the roof.

Glancing over the four cars, I wonder which one holds the Wicked Witch of Montana.

Shaking that thought away, I plaster on a smile to welcome my guests—guests who are counting on me to ensure this weekend is perfect.

A beaming blonde skips around the front of the first car, latching hands with the man who exits the passenger side.

This must be the bride and groom. They have that look of complete and utter infatuation about them.

It’s one I know well, though it’s been a long time since anyone has come close to putting that look on my face.

“Hi! I’m Jenna Kole… the bride,” she says with unrestrained excitement, her eyes alight as she waggles her ring-clad finger at me. “And this is Eric Blaise, my fiancé.”

Eric gives Jenna’s waist an affectionate squeeze before holding out his hand for me to shake. His grip is firm, and I offer a kind “Nice to meet you both; I’m Bryce Butler.”

Jenna chatters on about how beautiful the surrounding views are, but I’m holding my breath for the moment when I finally have to meet her.

Breathing in general becomes difficult when a second, even more stunning blonde exits the same vehicle.

Her hair falls in long waves around her shoulders and her cropped short-sleeve tee reveals a small sliver of skin above the waistband of a pair of leggings.

Leggings that hug her ass indecently when she leans into the car to grab a button-up that she ties around her waist to complete the look with what appear to be brand-new hiking boots.

Not a speck of dust or dirt on them… yet.

She glances up, catching my stare, and her cheeks flush crimson to match the lipstick she’s wearing on full, pouty lips. I wait for a man to exit the other side, a boyfriend or husband maybe—no way is this woman single—but instead, it’s a third, younger blonde who heads straight for Jenna and Eric.

A mental alarm bell sounds in my head, but I ignore it as I take in the trio of women gathering around me.

“Bryce, these are my sisters. Evelyn,” Jenna says, squeezing the youngest blonde’s shoulder, before turning her attention to the beautiful woman standing closest to me.

I feel a tingling at the back of my neck, knowing what she’ll say next but not wanting to believe it.

“And this is Leanne. You know her, of course.”

The shock freezes my face, which luckily has a smile on it, but all the while, my stomach clenches at the gut-punch of this revelation. The warmth that was flowing through me at the sight of her mere seconds ago is doused under a wave of arctic water. Arctic like her soul.

Okay, that might be a bit dramatic, but what the hell? This is Leanne?

The color drains from her cheeks in an instant and the warmth behind her hazel gaze dulls, taking the last remnants of her smile with it. She narrows her eyes before flicking them over to her sister, then back to me.

“You’re Bryce?” Her voice is incredulous, yet even with the hint of indignation, it makes my blood run hot.

I cannot be attracted to this woman. I cannot.

“I am,” I reply, giving nothing away as I wait to see how this plays out. I will be the professional one here. It’s my job, dammit, but it’s going to be hard to put up with her all weekend if this is how the first two minutes are going. I take a deep breath and step toward her, hand outstretched.

See? Polite.

Now that I’m standing closer, she has to tip her chin up to meet my gaze.

She’s taller than her sisters—at least five ten with her boots on—but I’ve got half a foot on her, and she doesn’t seem to like me towering over her.

She glances at my hand, and the look that twists her face says touching me would be comparable to picking gum off her shoe.

To hell with that.

I clear my throat, and her eyes snap to mine.

I extend my hand a few more inches. Her feet crunch on the gravel as she steps back, and she finally fits her small palm into mine.

I tighten my grip, partially on reflex and partially because she reads like an opponent and I refuse to lose.

She squeezes harder, and I’m impressed when she gives me a run for my money.

I ignore the way my skin heats at the feel of her soft palm sliding against my calloused one.

“It’s good to finally put a face to the name,” I say, keeping the disdain from my voice as best I can.

What I don’t say is I’m happy to now know who I’m envisioning when I throw hatchets at the tree targets behind the ranch.

It’s an activity we offer our guests but also one I use when I need to blow off steam.

I can already picture myself out there later today with the way this is going.

Her eyes narrow again, and she pulls her hand from my grip like I burned her.

Then she shocks me down to the soles of my boots by stammering, “I-I thought you were a woman.”

I take a step back, confusion and indignation taking over. “Excuse me?”

“Well, not you you.” She waves a hand, indicating my body, then cringes. “I mean, I thought I was corresponding with a woman all this time. I didn’t realize Bryce was a—”

I cut her off. “A gender-neutral name?” I’m not one to beat around the bush in my everyday life, but I try to keep my bluntness to a minimum with clients. That idea went out the window a long time ago where Leanne is concerned, however.

“Right.” She nods then shoots a glare at her sisters, who are giggling together, clearly taking too much enjoyment in this little misunderstanding. Luckily, the rest of the group hasn’t descended on us just yet. They’re still unloading their cars and talking with my staff.

“Why did you assume I was a woman, exactly?” I huff. Meeting her was bad enough, but this? This is almost cruel.

“You’re a wedding planner,” she blurts.

I bristle, straightening my shoulders until I’m standing at my full height.

“I am not a wedding planner,” I hiss through clenched teeth, fighting to keep my voice level in an effort not to attract more attention—or sound like an asshole.

“I’m an event coordinator… for a thousand-acre ranch that hosts events of all kinds. ”

Now technically, I am a wedding planner, among other things.

It’s not a title that normally bothers me.

I’ve heard it all before, and at nearly forty, I’m secure enough not to be thrown by this kind of comment, but it’s too much coming from her.

It feels like she’s diminishing my role here, when it’s my love for this ranch and my desire to showcase its beauty that makes this venue successful.

“Well, I was just—”

“You were just expecting a woman to be coordinating? Bit sexist, wouldn’t you say?” I bite out, starting to lose my composure. Sure, events is an overwhelmingly female-dominated field, but I don’t feel like putting her conscience at ease this morning. Not one bit.

Eric murmurs, “Oh shit,” to Jenna, who covers her mouth with her hand to stifle another laugh, her gaze bouncing between me and Leanne.

“I am not sexist!” Leanne whisper-shouts.

“Are you not? You assumed a wedding planner”—I use air quotes around the words to drive my point home—“couldn’t possibly be a man. You assumed because of my name that I was a woman, and you didn’t think to clarify. If I had done the same, would you not be calling me sexist?”

“There’s no reason to make a scene,” she says, her charged tone drawing the eyes of those around the other cars. “It was my mistake, okay?” She nearly chokes on the admission, as if it causes her physical pain.

“I’m not the one making a scene, Leanne,” I say, and my underlying frustration wraps around her name, making it sound deliciously wrong. Like those two syllables said with the quiet fury building within me could ignite us both and set us ablaze—for good or bad.

She observes the curious glances and confused looks pointed our way before forcing a full-toothed smile onto her face. “I think it’s time you showed us around. We have a lot to accomplish before the rehearsal. As you know, Bryce.”

She spits my name like it’s a curse.

“Yes, I’m well aware… I am the wedding planner after all.” I allow a small smirk to tilt my mouth up on one side before taking a step back and motioning toward the barn behind me. “Please, follow me,” I say, my tone dripping with barely leashed derision.