Czytaj książkę: «A Cadence Creek Christmas»

CHAPTER ONE

TAYLOR SHEPARD FROWNED as she assessed the lineup of men before her. All five of them were big, burly and, with the exception of her brother Jack, looked irritated beyond belief.

“Come on, Taylor, can’t we take these monkey suits off?”

Her oldest brother, Callum, pleaded with her. Along with his best man and groomsmen, he’d spent the past half hour trying on various tuxedo styles. Callum, being her brother and, of course, the groom, was the spokesman for the lot.

“If you want to show up at your wedding in jeans and boots, be my guest. I don’t think your bride would appreciate that too much, though.”

A muffled snort came from down the line. Her head snapped toward the sound and she saw one of the groomsmen—Rhys, if she remembered correctly—struggling to keep a straight face.

“Keep it up,” she warned severely, “and you’ll be the one trying on a cravat.”

His face sobered in an instant.

“This was supposed to be a small and simple wedding,” Callum reminded her. “Not one of your massive events.”

“And it will be. But small and simple doesn’t mean it can’t be classy.” She pinned him with a stare. “Your soon-to-be wife trusts me. Besides, you need to balance your look with the wedding dress and flower girl dress for Nell.” She paused and played her trump card. “They’re going to be beautiful.”

There’d be little argument out of Callum now. All it took was the mention of Avery and his baby daughter and the tough ex-soldier turned into a marshmallow. She thought it was fantastic. He’d needed someone like Avery for a long time. Not to mention how fatherhood had changed him. He had the family he’d always wanted.

She examined each man carefully. “I don’t like the red vests,” she decreed. She went up to Sam Diamond and tugged on the lapels of his jacket. “And not double-breasted. The green vests, like Tyson’s here. The single-breasted jacket like Jack has on, which is much simpler.” She smiled up at her brother, easily the most comfortable man in the group. Jack wouldn’t give her a moment’s trouble, not about this anyway. She got to the last body in the line and looked up.

Dark eyes looked down into hers. A little serious, a little bit of put-upon patience, and a surprising warmth that made her think he had a good sense of humor. She reached up and gave his tie a tug, straightening it. “And not the bolo tie, either. The crossover that Rhys is wearing is classier and still very Western.”

Her fingertips grazed the starchy fabric of his shirt as she dropped her hand. It was a negligible touch, barely worth noticing, except the slight contact made something interesting tumble around in her stomach. Her gaze darted up to his again and discovered he was watching her steadily in a way that made her feel both excited and awkward.

Interesting. Because in her line of work she dealt with all sorts of men every day. Rich men, powerful men, men who liked other men and men who couldn’t keep their hands to themselves. She knew how to handle herself. Was never tempted to flirt unless it was a business strategy. She was very good at reading people, figuring out their tastes and wants and knowing what methods she needed to use to deliver them.

So getting a fluttery feeling from barely touching Rhys Bullock was a surprise indeed. And feeling awkward? Well, that was practically unheard of. Of course, it could be that she was just very out of practice. She’d been far too busy building her business to do much dating.

She straightened her shoulders and took a step backward. “Okay, now on to footwear.”

Groans went up the line.

She smiled. “Guys, really. This will be the best part. I was thinking black boots which we can get wherever you prefer to buy your boots. No patent dress shoes. Put on the boots you wore here so we can accurately measure your inseam for length. Then we’ll finish up your measurements and you’re done.” She made a dismissive sound. “Honestly, what a bunch of babies.”

She was having fun now, teasing the guys. They were good men but not much for dressing up. She got that. Their standard uniform was jeans and boots, plaid shirts and Stetsons. Tuxedo fittings had to be torture.

Still, it didn’t matter if this was her brother’s wedding or a client’s A-list party. Or if she was being paid or doing it as a wedding gift. Avery and Callum’s day would be exactly what it should be because she’d oversee every last detail.

And if she were being honest with herself, it was a relief to get out of Vancouver for a while and deal with “real” people. It had been exhausting lately. Most of her clients were rich and used to getting exactly what they wanted exactly when they wanted it. Their sense of entitlement could be a bit much. Not to mention the unorthodox requests. She sometimes wondered what sort of reality these people lived in.

As she looked after the ordering details, one of the alterations staff did measurements. Another half hour and they were all done and standing out in the sunshine again. Taylor pulled out her phone and scanned her to-do list for today. She had to drive back to Cadence Creek and meet with Melissa Stone, the florist at Foothills Floral. The final order was going to be placed today—after all, the wedding was less than two weeks away now. All this should have been done a month ago or even more, but Taylor knew there were ways to get things done in a hurry if needs be. Like with the tuxes and invitations. Both should have been tended to months ago but it had merely taken a few phone calls and it had all been sorted. A little out of Callum’s budget, perhaps, but he didn’t need to know that. She was good for it. Exclusive!—her event planning business—had treated her well the past few years.

Still, there was no time to waste. She closed her calendar and looked up.

The group of them were standing around chatting, something about a lodge north of town and what had happened to the rancher who’d owned it. Jack was listening intently, but Rhys was missing. Had he left already?

The bell on the door chimed behind her, and she turned to see Rhys walking through. He looked far more himself now in black jeans and a black, tan and red plaid shirt beneath a sheepskin jacket. His boots were brown and weathered and as he stepped on to the sidewalk he dipped his head just a little and placed a well-worn hat on top. Taylor half smiled. The hat looked like an old friend; shaped precisely to his head, worn-in and comfortable.

“Feel better?” she asked, smiling.

“I’m not much for dressing up,” he replied simply.

“I know. None of you are, really. But it’s only for one day. You’re all going to look very handsome.”

“Is that so?”

Her cheeks heated a little. Rhys’s best feature was his eyes. And he was tall and well-built, just the way she liked her men. Perhaps it was growing up the way she had. They’d all been outdoor kids. Heck, Callum had joined the military and Jack had been a pro downhill skier until he’d blown his knee out at Val d’Isère.

But Rhys wasn’t classically handsome. Not in the way that Tyson Diamond was, for instance. In this group Rhys would be the one who would probably be overlooked. His cheekbones were high and defined and his jawbone unrelenting, giving him a rough appearance. His lips looked well-shaped but it was hard to tell—the closest she’d seen him come to smiling was the clandestine chuckle while they were inside.

But it was the way he’d answered that piqued her interest. Is that so? he’d asked, as if he couldn’t care one way or the other if anyone thought him handsome or not.

It was quite refreshing.

“I should get going,” she said, lifting her chin. “I’ve got to be back to town in thirty minutes for another appointment. Thanks for coming out. It’ll be easy for you from here on in. Weddings do tend to be mostly women’s business.” At least with these sorts of men...

“Drive carefully then,” he said, tipping his hat. “No sense rushing. The creek isn’t going anywhere.”

“Thanks, but I’d like to be on time just the same.” She gave him a brief nod and turned to the assembled group. “I’ve got to go. Thanks everyone.” She put her hand on Callum’s shoulder and went up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “See you soon.” She did the same for Jack. “When are you flying out?”

He shrugged. “I’m going to hang around for a few days. I’ve got to be back in Montana for meetings on Monday, though, and then I’m flying in the Thursday before the wedding.”

“Let’s have lunch before you go back.”

“You got it. Text me.”

With a quick wave Taylor hurried across the parking lot, her heeled boots echoing on the pavement. She turned the car heater on high and rubbed her hands together—December in Alberta was colder than on the coast and she felt chilled to the bone all the time.

She was down to twenty-five minutes. As a light snow began to fall, she put her rental car in gear and pulled out, checking her GPS for the quickest route to the highway.

Three weeks. That was how long she had to decompress. She’d take care of Callum’s wedding and then enjoy one indulgent week of vacation before heading home and working on the final preparations for New Year’s. This year’s planning involved taking over an entire warehouse and transforming it into an under the sea kingdom.

It all seemed quite ridiculous. And because it did, she knew that it was time she took a vacation. Even one as short as a week in some small, backwater Alberta town. Thank goodness her assistant, Alicia, was completely capable and could handle things in Taylor’s absence.

She turned on the wipers and sighed. Compared to the crazy demands of her normal events, she knew she could do this wedding with her eyes closed.

If that were true, though, why was she having so much fun and dreading going back to Vancouver so very much?

* * *

It was already dark when Taylor whipped out her phone, brought up her to-do list and started punching in brief notes with her thumbs. Her fingers were numb with cold and she’d been out of the flower shop for a whole minute and a half. Where on earth was the frigid air coming from anyway? Shivering and walking toward the town’s B&B, she hurriedly typed in one last detail she didn’t want to forget. Instead of typing the word “cedar,” however, she felt a sharp pain in her shoulder as she bounced off something very big and hard.

“Hey,” she growled. “Watch where you’re going!”

She looked up to find Rhys Bullock staring down at her, a scowl marking his angular face.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said, letting out a puff of annoyance.

He knelt down and retrieved her phone, stood up and handed it over. “Hope it didn’t break,” he said. His tone suggested that he wasn’t quite sincere in that sentiment.

“The rubber cover is supposed to protect it. It’ll be fine.”

“Maybe next time you should watch where you’re going. Stop and sit down before you start typing.”

“It’s too damn cold to stop,” she grumbled.

He laughed then, the expulsion of breath forming a white cloud around his head. “Not used to an arctic front? This isn’t cold. Wait until it’s minus forty.”

“Not a chance.”

“That’s right. You’re only here for the wedding.”

“If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get out of the cold before my fingertips fall off.” She tried to ignore how his face changed when he laughed, softening the severe lines. A smattering of tiny marks added character to his tanned skin. If she had to come up with one word to describe Rhys, it would be weathered. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

He took a step closer and to her surprise reached into her pocket and took out her gloves. Then he took the phone from her hands, dropped it in the pocket and handed over the gloves. “This will help.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That was presumptuous of you.”

He shrugged. “Ms. Shepard, I’m pretty much used to keeping things simple and doing what has to be done. If your fingers are cold, put on your gloves.”

She shoved her fingers into the fuzzy warmth, her temper simmering. He spoke to her as if she were a child!

“Now,” he said calmly, “where are you headed? It’s dark. I’ll walk you.”

Her temper disintegrated under the weight of her disbelief. She laughed. “Are you serious? This is Cadence Creek. I think I’ll be safe walking two blocks to my accommodations.” Good Lord. She lived in one of the largest cities in Canada. She knew how to look out for herself!

“Maybe I just want to make sure you don’t start texting and walk out into traffic,” he suggested. “You must be going to Jim’s then.” He named the bed and breakfast owner.

“That’s right.”

He turned around so they were facing the same direction. “Let’s go,” he suggested.

She fell into step because she didn’t know what else to do. He seemed rather determined and it would take all of five minutes to walk to the rambling house that provided the town’s only accommodation. To her mind the dive motel out on the highway didn’t count. She watched as he tipped his hat to an older lady coming out of the drugstore and then gave a nod to a few men standing on the steps of the hardware. He might be gruff and bossy and not all that pretty to look at, but she had to give Rhys one thing—his manners were impeccable.

The light dusting of snow earlier covered the sidewalk and even grouchy Taylor had to admit that it was pretty, especially in the dark with the town’s Christmas lights casting colored shadows on its surface. Each old-fashioned lamppost held a pine wreath with a red bow. Storefronts were decorated with garland on their railings and twinkle lights. Christmas trees peeked through front windows and jolly Santas and snowmen grinned from front yards.

Cadence Creek at the holidays was like one of those Christmas card towns that Taylor hadn’t believed truly existed. Being here wasn’t really so bad. Even if it was a little...boring.

They stopped at a crosswalk. And as they did her stomach gave out a long, loud rumble.

Rhys put his hand at her elbow and they stepped off the curb. But instead of going right on the other side, he guided her to the left.

“Um, the B&B is that way,” she said, turning her head and pointing in the opposite direction.

“When did you eat last?” he asked.

She fought the urge to sigh. “None of your business.”

Undeterred, he kept walking and kept the pressure at her elbow. “Jim and Kathleen don’t provide dinner. You need something to eat.”

She stopped dead in her tracks. Rhys carried on for a few steps until he realized she wasn’t with him then he stopped and turned around. “What?”

“How old am I?”

His brows wrinkled, forming a crease above his nose. “How could I possibly know that?”

“Do I look like an adult to you?”

Something flared in his eyes as his gaze slid from her face down to her boots and back up again. “Yes’m.”

She swallowed. “You can’t herd me like you herd your cattle, Mr. Bullock.”

“I don’t herd cattle,” he responded.

“You don’t?”

“No ma’am. I work with the horses. Especially the skittish ones.”

“Well, then,” she floundered and then recovered, ignoring that a snowflake had just fallen and landed on the tip of her nose. “I’m not one of your horses. You can’t make me eat just because you say so.”

He shrugged. “Can’t make the horses do that, either. Trick is to make them want to do what I want.” He gave her a level stare. “I’m pretty good at that.”

“Your ego isn’t suffering, I see.”

His lips twitched. “No, ma’am. Everyone has a skill. Smart man knows what his is, that’s all.”

God, she didn’t want to be amused. He was a bullheaded, overbearing macho cowboy type who probably called women “little lady” and thought he was all that. But she was amused and to be honest she’d enjoyed sparring with him just a little bit. At least he wasn’t a pampered brat like most people she met.

She let out the tension in her shoulders. “Where are you taking me, then?” She’d seriously considered ordering a pizza and having it delivered to the B&B. It wasn’t like there was a plethora of dining choices in Cadence Creek.

“Just to the Wagon Wheel. Best food in town.”

“I’ve been. I had lunch there yesterday.” And breakfast in the dining room of the bed and breakfast and then dinner was a fast-food burger grabbed on the way back from the stationery supply store in Edmonton.

The lunch had definitely been the best meal—homemade chicken soup, thick with big chunks of chicken, vegetables and the temptation of a warm roll which she’d left behind, not wanting the extra carbs.

Her stomach growled again, probably from the mere thought of the food at the diner.

“Fine. I’ll go get some takeout. Will that make you happy?”

He shrugged. “It’s not about me. But now that you mention it, I think tonight is pot roast. I could do with some of that myself.” He turned and started walking away.

Reluctantly she followed a step behind him. At least he didn’t have that darned proprietary hand under her elbow anymore. Half a block away she could smell the food. The aroma of the standard fare—fries and the like—hit first, but then the undertones touched her nostrils: beef, bread and baking.

Her mouth watered as she reminded herself that she had a bridesmaid’s dress to fit into as well. Pot roast would be good. But she would absolutely say no to dessert.

It was warm inside the diner. The blast of heat was a glorious welcome and the scents that were hinted at outside filled the air inside. Christmas music played from an ancient jukebox in the corner. The whole place was decorated for the holidays, but in the evening with everything lit up it looked very different than it had yesterday at noon. Mini-lights ran the length of the lunch counter and the tree in a back corner had flashing lights and a star topper that pulsed like a camera flash. The prevalence of vinyl and chrome made her feel like she was in a time warp.

Two-thirds of the tables were filled with people, all talking animatedly over the music. Rhys gave a wave to a group in a corner and then, to her surprise, slipped behind the cash register and went straight into the kitchen.

Through the order window she saw him grin at an older woman in a huge cobbler’s apron who laughed and patted his arm. Both of them turned Taylor’s way and she offered a polite smile before turning her attention to the specials menu on a chalkboard. Takeout was definitely the way to go here. This wasn’t her town or her people. She stuck out like a sore thumb.

She was just about to order a salad when Rhys returned. “Come on,” he said, taking her elbow again. “Let’s grab a seat.”

“Um, I didn’t really think we were going to eat together. I was just going to get something to take back with me.”

“You work too hard,” he said, holding out a chair for her and then moving around the table without pushing it in—polite without being over the top. “You could use some downtime.”

She shifted the chair closer to the table. “Are you kidding? This is slow for me.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Then you really do need to stop and refuel.”

He shrugged out of his jacket and hooked it over the top of the chair. She did the same, unbuttoning the black-and-red wool coat and shoving her scarf in the sleeve. She wore skinny jeans tucked into her favorite boots—red designer riding boots—and a snug black cashmere sweater from an expensive department store in the city. She looked around. Most of the men wore thirty-dollar jeans and plaid flannel, and the women dressed in a similar fashion—jeans and department store tops.

Just as she thought. Sore thumb.

When she met Rhys’s gaze again she found his sharper, harder, as if he could read her thoughts. She dropped her gaze and opened her menu.

“No need for that. Couple orders of pot roast are on their way.”

She put down the menu and folded her hands on the top. While the rest of the decorations at the diner bordered on cheesy, she secretly loved the small silk poinsettia pots with Merry Christmas picks. “What amusement are you getting out of this?” she asked. “From what I can gather you don’t approve of me but you do enjoy bossing me around.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Because so far you’ve found fault with everything I say or do?”

“Then why did you come with me?”

“You didn’t leave me much choice.” She pursed her lips.

“You always have a choice,” he replied, unrolling his cutlery from his paper napkin.

“Then I guess because I was hungry,” she said.

He smiled. “You mean because I was right.”

Oh, he was infuriating!

“The trick is to make them want to do what I want.” He repeated his earlier sentiment, only she understood he wasn’t talking about horses anymore. He’d played her like a violin.

She might have had some choice words only their meals arrived, two plates filled with roast beef, potatoes, carrots, peas and delightfully puffy-looking Yorkshire puddings. Her potatoes swam in a pool of rich gravy and the smell coming from the food was heaven in itself.

She never ate like this anymore. Wondered if she could somehow extract the potatoes from the gravy or maybe just leave the potatoes altogether—that would probably be better.

“Thanks, Mom,” she heard Rhys say, and her gaze darted from her plate up to his face and then to the woman standing beside the table—the same woman who had patted his arm in the kitchen. Taylor guessed her to be somewhere around fifty, with dark brown hair like Rhys’s, only cut in an efficient bob and sprinkled with a few gray hairs.

“You’re welcome,” she said, then turned to Taylor with a smile. “You’re Callum’s sister. I remember you from the christening party.”

Right. Taylor had flown in for that and she’d helped arrange a few details like the outdoor tent, but she’d done it all by phone from Vancouver. “Oh, my goodness, I totally didn’t put two and two together. Martha Bullock...of course. And you’re Rhys’s mother.” She offered an uncertain smile. Usually she didn’t forget details like that. Then again the idea of the gruff cowboy calling anyone “Mom” seemed out of place.

“Sure am. Raised both him and his brother, Tom. Tom’s been working up north for years now, but Rhys moved home a few years back.”

“Your chicken tartlets at the party were to die for,” Taylor complimented. “And I had the soup yesterday. You’re a fabulous cook, Mrs. Bullock. Whoever your boys marry have big shoes to fill to keep up with Mom’s home cooking.”

Martha laughed while, from the corner of her eye, Taylor could see Rhys scowl. Good. About time he felt a bit on the back foot since he’d been throwing her off all day.

“Heh, good luck,” Martha joked. “I’m guessing groomsman is as close to the altar as Rhys is gonna get. He’s picky.”

She could almost see the steam come out of his ears, but she took pity on him because she’d heard much the same argument from her own family. It got wearisome after a while. Particularly from her father, who’d never taken her business seriously and seemed to think her sole purpose in life was to settle down and have babies.

Not that she had anything against marriage or babies. But she’d do it on her own timetable.

“Well,” she said, a bit softer, “it seems to me that getting married is kind of a big deal and a person would have to be awfully sure that they wanted to see that person every day for the rest of their lives. Not a thing to rush, really.”

Martha smiled and patted Taylor’s hand. “Pretty and wise. Don’t see that very often, at least around here.” She sent a pointed look at a nearby table where Taylor spied an animated blonde seated with a young man who seemed besotted with her.

“Well, your supper’s getting cold.” Martha straightened. “And I’ve got to get back. See you in a bit.”

Taylor watched Rhys’s mother move off, stopping at several tables to say hello. Her full laugh was infectious and Taylor found herself smiling.

When she turned back, Rhys had already started cutting into his beef. Taylor mentally shrugged and speared a bright orange carrot with her fork.

“So,” she said easily. “How’d a nice woman like your mother end up with a pigheaded son like you?”