Meet Me at the Chapel (10 page)

“Howdy!”

Casey's eyes flew open—she shouldn't be hearing anyone else's voice. She was supposed to be alone on the ranch.

Wyatt, the cute cowboy
.

“I was beginning to think that I wasn't going to find you.” Wyatt walked over her way.

She couldn't help herself—he was young, but boy was he cute. The way his faded blue jeans fit his thighs, the way his hat rested on his head—that smile.

“How are you, Wyatt?” Casey stood up. She supposed her break was over. She'd find out what Wyatt wanted, then send him on his way so she could get back to work. She had it in her head that she was going to pull every stick of furniture out of the shed so she could sort it out. Some of the pieces were damaged beyond repair, but most of the pieces just needed a little love and elbow grease.

Wyatt tilted his hat to her in greeting. “Just another day in paradise.”

Her eyes landed on the beautiful mountains in the background, the flat prairie perfect for galloping Gigi and the wide expanse of blue sky. It
was
paradise—or the closest thing to it for her. She had been wondering lately—if she could brave Chicago in the winter, could she survive Montana in the winter?

“Whatcha got going on here?” Wyatt looked at the furniture strewn about.

“I'm unloading this shed,” she explained the obvious. “Brock said I'm free to take what I want. It's such beautiful stuff, I wish I could take it all.”

“This is Brock's work?”

She nodded. “Speaking of work—aren't you supposed to be at Bent Tree?”

“Day off.” He smiled at her.

“And you thought you would just stop by to say hi?”

“Yep.” Wyatt took a look inside of the shed. “If you're gonna move all this stuff out of this place, you're gonna need some help.”

She tried to decline his help, but he wouldn't hear of it. For some reason, the cute cowboy wanted to stick around. And yes, he was a flirt. But he was harmless. Her aunt and uncle both liked Wyatt—he was young and took wholehearted advantage of his natural good looks, but he wasn't there to hurt her.

“All right—all right.” She finally gave in. “If you want to help me, help me. You can start by moving that desk right there.”

Wyatt dove into the project and his muscles did come in handy. Somewhere along the line, he shed his button-down shirt and was bare-chested. He reminded her of the Matthew McConaughey of the nineties, when he took every opportunity to take his shirt off because he knew that he looked that damn good. Well, Wyatt looked that damn good. Golden skin, golden hair, shredded abs, defined arms. He was the whole sexy package.

“Woooo!” Wyatt jumped down from the top of the smaller pile of furniture. “I'm sweating like a whore in church!”

She was trying to woman-handle a heavy desk to its section with only minimal success. She had pulled it, pushed it, cursed at it.

“Wyatt! Would you help me, please?”

The cute cowboy was wiping the beads of sweat from his chest and forehead and face. He tossed his shirt over the back of a nearby chair and then headed her way.

“Here—move on over.” Wyatt winked at her. “This is a job for a man.”

Oh, really?

“Is that so? Then I suppose I should wait until one arrives, huh?”

Wyatt tugged on the table that was caught on a root in the grass; he laughed at her comment, but kept on tugging until the table was free. The smile of triumph he gave her when he easily dragged the table to its “section” with one arm was so cocky that she couldn't even hold it against him. It was undeniable—Wyatt was flat-out likable.

“Thank you,” she said.

The cowboy posed for her like he was in a bodybuilding contest, showing off his biceps. “Count on the guns!”

Casey rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes. I see them.” She grabbed his damp shirt and tossed it to him. “Now put them away before you hurt somebody.”

Chapter Ten

T
hey worked side by side, only taking breaks for hydration, until the shed was completely empty and every piece of furniture was categorized. The furniture that wasn't salvageable was put off to the side for Brock to handle in his own way.

“Holy cannoli.” Casey couldn't believe what they'd accomplished. “That was a chore. Now I've got to figure out how to get it back in there so it's easy to get around.”

She walked over to the area of the yard where she had put the several styles of bed frames. There was one in particular that she liked. She moved a couple of things out of her way to get to the bed frame she had in mind to put on the “take to Chicago” list when she spotted something move near her foot.

“Oh, crap! Oh,
crap
!” She scrambled up onto a nearby desk, stood up and searched the ground for the snake that had just slithered between her legs.

She pointed. “Snake! Right there! Snake!”

Her heart was racing like crazy. She hated snakes. She
hated
snakes. And that one had the audacity to slither right between her boots like he was going under a bridge!

“You're fine.” Wyatt brushed off her panic. “It's probably harmless. The only venomous snakes we have in Montana are rattlers. Did you see a rattle?”

She frowned at him. “No.”

“Then quit your yelling, woman. He's more scared of you than you are of him.”

“
That
is not true!” she snapped at him. “You quit lecturing me and make sure he's gone!”

Wyatt kicked some of the wood around where she had found safe ground. It took a minute, but then she heard him say, “There you are.”

“What are you doing? What are you
doing
?”

Wyatt had dived forward, his hand outstretched. When he straightened upright, he had a snake in his hand.

“Look—see? It's just a gopher snake. He's not gonna hurt you.” Wyatt started to walk toward her with the snake.

“Don't you dare bring that snake over here, Wyatt! Don't you dare do it!” she hollered. “Take him out to the field—far enough away so he won't come back!”

Wyatt grinned at her, but he didn't come any closer. “He's just a kid. Are you sure you don't want to see him up close so you know another gopher snake when you see one?”

Her heart was beating so hard that it sounded like a drumbeat in her ears. Her legs were shaking and she felt completely freaked out.

She jabbed her finger toward the field. “Over
there
!”

The cowboy complied with her command—he was laughing good-naturedly on his way to setting the snake free. Wyatt strolled back to where she was still standing atop the desk.

“The coast is clear. Do you wanna come on back down?”

“Which direction did he head?” she asked cautiously.

“He's halfway to Canada by now.” Wyatt held up his arms so he could lift her down. “Come on now. I think you owe me a cold drink and some conversation.”

Casey let Wyatt swing her down from the desk. Up close, he smelled kind of sweaty and woody and musky, but it wasn't offensive.

“You're just a little thing, aren't you? How tall are you, Casey?” Wyatt asked her as they walked back to the farmhouse to get something cold to drink.

“That's a strange question.” Casey lifted an eyebrow at him. “Five two and three quarters. My sister and I totally got gypped in the height department—we took after our mom's side of the family instead of the Brand side.

“Lemonade okay?” Casey asked when she reached the top step of the porch.

“That'd taste mighty good right now.”

“Have a seat out here—I'll get it for us.”

Casey wasn't sure how Brock would feel about Wyatt being in his house—but if she had to take a guess, it would be that he wouldn't be too fond of the idea.

She reappeared with a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses full to the rim with ice. She pushed the screen door open with her shoulder and carried the tray carefully over to where Wyatt was kicked back, his boots propped up on the porch railing.

“Here!” He jumped up. “Let me help you with that.”

“You're just full of help today, aren't you?”

Wyatt gave her one of his quick winks. “Yes, ma'am.”

Did he just ma'am me? Maybe he isn't trying to hit on me.

She poured the lemonade for them, handed him his glass and then sat down. Her body thanked her for sitting down. She was worn-out. And the endorphin high that she had been riding for hours had disappeared, leaving her feeling a pain on the right side of her abdomen again.

“Thank you, Wyatt. Seriously. I was in over my head and didn't know it.”

He gulped down the lemonade in one shot and then went back for more. He gulped down a second glass before he came up for air.

“That's darn good lemonade.”

She nodded her agreement; when she looked over at the cowboy, she just couldn't stop herself from clearing up any confusion she was feeling.

“Wyatt...I need to clear something up in my own mind. You aren't...hitting on me, are you?”

Wyatt laughed an easy laugh. “I've been tryin'.”

Baffled, Casey asked, “Do you even know how old I am?”

He gave her a sheepish look. “I carried your aunt's groceries in the other day. I might've accidentally seen your birthday candles. You're either gonna be thirty-five or fifty-three.”

He was trying to make her laugh and it worked. To have such a good-looking cowboy paying attention to her, it was flattering. It really was.

“Just exactly how old are you, Wyatt?” She didn't think that she was all that much older than him in years, but she was light-years older than him in maturity.

“Twenty-four next month.”

“I'm a decade older than you.” Casey took another sip of her lemonade. “Why do you think you want to go out with me?”

Wyatt looked at her face appreciatively. “I'm a sucker for a redhead.”

“And?” she prompted him when he didn't say anything more.

“Does there have to be anything more than that?” Wyatt asked, and for the first time, he actually sounded serious. “I think you're pretty and I want to take you out.”

He filled in the empty space in the conversation by adding, “And I personally think you should go out with me. I guarantee that you'd have one of the best nights of your life.”

“I'm flattered, Wyatt.” She smiled at him. “I really am. But I just think we're the wrong age for each other.”

“I'm not asking to get married,” Wyatt bantered. “I just want to take you dancin'.”

It struck her as out of character that part of her wanted to go out with the cowboy. Yes, he was younger than her, but like he said, he wasn't looking for marriage. He just wanted to take her out for the fun of it.

“I asked your aunt about you.” Wyatt stood up and leaned against the railing opposite her chair.

“You asked my aunt about me? How'd that go?”

“She told me that you aren't fast.” Wyatt rested his hands on either side of his body. “But I don't mind slow. As a matter of fact, I think I'd like to try out a new gear for a change.”

* * *

Wyatt helped her repack the shed so that there was an aisle in the middle. All of the furniture was organized now and easy to access. When Brock returned home that evening, he was shocked to see what she had managed to accomplish.

“You did all of this by yourself?”

There was a moment, right before she told him that Wyatt had helped her, that she felt nervous to tell him. No, she hadn't been officially dating Brock, but they had been spending so much time together that it kind of
felt
like something might be building between them. But there was always the divorce hanging overhead like a nasty storm cloud.

“Wyatt was here again?” Brock's heavy dark brows drew together severely. “I need to have a talk with that boy.”

“No.” Casey wanted to reassure him. “He's not bothering me. Really. He's harmless. And actually, he was a really big help.”

“So—did you find anything you wanted?” Brock asked her after he had cleaned his plate.

“Are you kidding?” She was in awe at the man's talent. “Everything!”

“If you've got a place to keep it, you can have it.”

He was serious, too.

“No—I wouldn't do that. It's too much.”

She waited for a moment before she added, “You are going to get irritated with me for saying this, but you are so incredibly talented, Brock. I just wish you would do something with that gift—it's such a waste if you don't.”

“Are you done?” He pointed to her plate; she didn't feel hungry. She would have thought she would be famished—but she wasn't.

He took her plate when she nodded yes in response to his question.

“Why don't you want to make furniture anymore?” She really wanted to know. God-given talent like that shouldn't be squandered for no good reason.

Brock sighed—he had his hands resting on the edge of the kitchen sink, his head bowed down, his back to her.

“I just lost the desire,” he finally told her. “I didn't have the heart for it anymore.”

His words struck a nerve in her, stirred up a painful memory of love lost from her college years. She used to write poetry—and she was pretty good at it, too—but after her first real boyfriend didn't want to be with her anymore, she lost the desire, the heart, to write poetry, and she hadn't written any poetry since. That was the last time she was going to pressure Brock about it. His heart was broken and she doubted he'd make another stick of furniture until that broken heart was mended.

* * *

The family was gathered in the large kitchen of Bent Tree where a long table carved from one of the fallen trees on the property allowed seating for the entire family and guests. It was the room in the house that was always warm, no matter the season, because the ovens were always on. Aunt Barb was an avid cook and loved to make homemade meals and desserts for her family. That was one of the many ways her aunt showed everyone in the family how much she loved them. So, when her aunt insisted on hosting a “semi-surprise” birthday party for her and Taylor, she couldn't refuse. It would hurt her Aunt Barb, and now that she was a regular visitor at Bent Tree, she was feeling less like a stranger and more like family.

Uncle Hank, who had a very nice singing voice, added after everyone else had stopped singing, “And many more!”

Aunt Barb clasped her hands together, her finely structured face lit up with joy because the family had gathered. She was such a family-focused woman—if she could, she would have all four of her living children living on the ranch so she could see them every day and spoil the living dickens out of her grandchildren.

“Make a wish!” everyone shouted at them. The cake had a three and a five on one side for her, and a four and a zero for Taylor on the other side.

“You go first,” she said to her sister. Taylor closed her eyes tightly, thought for a moment and then blew out her two candles. Everyone cheered when the candle flames were blown out.

“Your turn,” Taylor said. “Wish for something wonderful.”

Casey held her long ponytail close to her body so wayward strands wouldn't get caught by the candle flames. She closed her eyes tightly and wished for what she had wished for the last several years:
a family.

Casey opened her eyes and blew out the flames, first on the number 3 and then on the number 5. The family cheered for her; there was so much love in the room aimed at her, it made her wonder how she would ever go back to her fairly solitary life in Chicago. Yes, she had friends. But most of her friends were married now with children. She was one of the last single friends from college; she didn't blame her friends for not having much free time—if she had the family she wished for, she wouldn't have time to go shopping or go out to eat downtown. She would be at home, with her husband, enjoying her children.

“Thank you, everyone!” Casey blew kisses to her family on the other side of the table. “Let's eat cake!”

Aunt Barb, by her request, had baked a five-layer red velvet cake with thick, rich, buttery, cream cheese frosting. She had her first slice then immediately went back for a second slice.

“Am I too late for the party?” Wyatt came waltzing into the kitchen.

She had already said “no thank you” to the cowboy twice now, but he just kept on coming back for more rejection. At least he rebounded quickly.

Her uncle Hank and her cousin Luke greeted Wyatt without any reservations. They shook his hand and gave him a pat on the back.

“For the birthday girl.” Wyatt pulled a single red rose out from behind his back.

Casey's eyes skirted around to her family to see their reaction. This was completely embarrassing. And yet, it was...nice.

She accepted the flower and smelled it right away. “Mmm. Thank you, Wyatt.”

“Sit down and have a piece of cake, Wyatt,” Barbara said to the new arrival. It was always the more the merrier for her.

Casey was glad to see Sophia and Luke sitting next to each other at the table, each holding one of their twin toddler girls, Annabelle and Abigail. Their son Danny had gone outside to play, and Casey thought that his parents would be glad that he was going to work off some of that rare sugar infusion before bedtime. But even though they were sitting next to each other, there was a weird tension between them. They didn't exchange but a handful of words, and they hadn't touched each other, not even when Sophia had first arrived with the children.

“Do you mind slidin' over a bit?” Wyatt asked Taylor. “I really had my heart set on sittin' next to the birthday girl.”

“Woman,” Casey corrected. “I'm the birthday
woman
.”