The Cowboy Takes a Bride Read online

  Immediately after the funeral, they held a wake at the Silver Horseshoe—Clover had left the place to her bartender Bobby Jim Spears—and all the drinks were on the house. Ila arranged for designated drivers to take the mourners home.

  They were telling stories and toasting Clover when Mariah’s cell phone rang. It made her think about how another phone call, another death had brought her to Jubilee two and a half months earlier. Not so long ago the cutters had gathered in the exact same way to mourn her father and she’d missed out on all of it. He’d wanted her left out of his life, even at the end of it. She couldn’t deny how much that hurt, no matter how hard she tried to pretend that it didn’t.

  “I’ll be right back,” she whispered to Joe, and stepped into the back room to take the call. She’d been expecting a call from her mother. The paneled office made her think of Clover. She blinked, unable to see the caller ID through a mist of tears. “Hello?”

  “Mariah?” said the woman on the other end.

  It wasn’t her mother. “Yes?”

  “This is Destiny . . . Destiny Simon.”

  “Um . . . hello.” Mariah’s stomach constricted. What did the woman want from her?

  “Hi, how are you?” Destiny asked as if they were the best of friends. As if she hadn’t fired Mariah for defending herself against sexual assault.

  But then that was Destiny. Always going where opportunity existed. Never much caring whom she hurt on her way up the ladder. She’d given Mariah her start, but Mariah’s fallacy had been in modeling herself after a woman who stood for nothing beyond the glossy image. Being in Jubilee, becoming part of the cutter community had taught Mariah what she truly valued, and that wasn’t success at any price.

  “I’m fine, Destiny, how are you?”

  “I heard from Grace Bettingfield that you started your own wedding planning business.”

  Here it comes. She’s going to accuse me of somehow stealing her techniques or something. It was precisely what Mariah would have expected from her ex-employer. “I did.”

  “In fact,” Destiny said, “Grace said you’re a stunning success.”

  “I wouldn’t say stunning. Not in your terms.”

  A long silence stretched over the phone. Mariah toyed with the idea of just hanging up. But something—maybe it was that burned-down chapel—kept her hanging on.

  Destiny cleared her throat. “Look, I’m going to lay my cards on the table.”

  “Please do.”

  “I made a big mistake.”

  “Thank you for having the courage to tell me that.”

  “I want you back. You’re irreplaceable.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. Don’t make me beg. I haven’t been able to find anyone of your caliber since you left. No one works like you do. No one had your innate talent for staging. No one understands how important image is—”

  “That’s because image isn’t all that important. Not really. Not when it counts. What counts are people you can count on to have your back.”

  “Is that a dig?”

  “Not at all. I’ve just learned a few things since I’ve been in Jubilee. Things like honor and loyalty and trust.”

  “Okay, I’ll admit, I was wrong to let you go. I know Mayor Krumpholder is a sexist pig. I should have backed you up.”

  It did feel good to hear Destiny admit she was wrong. “Let me ask you a question.”

  “All right.”

  “Would you be making this call if Grace Bettingfield hadn’t been singing my praises?”

  Destiny hesitated.

  “That’s what I thought. Good-bye.”

  “Wait. Listen. Don’t hang up.”

  Mariah didn’t hang up. She didn’t know why she didn’t hang up. Maybe it was the small part of her that still chafed over having been fired in such a dramatic way. Or maybe it was the fact she still wasn’t certain what was going to happen between her and Joe. “What is it, Destiny?”

  “What are you bringing in on those cowboy weddings? It can’t be anything like what you were pulling down here.”

  “It’s not, but you know what? I have peace of mind now that I didn’t have back then.”

  “But you can’t truly be happy. Not in that backwater town. You’re a big-city woman. You thrive on pressure and being at the top of your game. I know you, Mariah Callahan. You’re just like me.”

  Once upon a time, that might have been true, but she’d changed a lot in the past several weeks. “What is it you want?”

  “Come back to work for me. I’ll double your salary.”

  Mariah paused. If Destiny doubled her previous salary, she’d be pulling down over a hundred grand a year. But that was for an eighty-hour workweek. No private life. No Joe. No Jubilee. No community of co-op members ready to pitch in when you got in a pinch.

  “I don’t think so,” she said.

  “Triple it then. I need you back.” Destiny sounded desperate. She must be desperate to offer Mariah triple her salary.

  Mariah sucked in a deep breath. “Let me get this straight. You’re offering me three times my old salary to come back to Chicago?”

  “I’ve already sent you a contract. I got your address from Grace Bettingfield. It should be in your mailbox. Please, before you say no, just think about it. Everything you ever dreamed of is within your reach.”

  After Clover’s wake, Joe and Mariah returned to the cabin. All his horses were now being stabled in her barn. So much for her reception hall. But she no longer had a wedding chapel. Her budding business had been wiped out. She started to feel a bit sorry for herself, but immediately squelched the thought. Clover had lost her life. Next to that, a business was inconsequential. But after Destiny’s call, she couldn’t help feeling that she was at a new crossroads.

  What did the future hold?

  “C’mere,” Joe said, and held out his arms to her.

  She went to him and he wrapped her in a comforting embrace. She rested her head against his shoulder, the crisp material of his funeral suit stiff against her cheek.

  “Clover is in a better place,” he whispered. “She’s getting to see Dutch again and she’s reunited with her Carl. She loved him so much. I got the impression she was just marking time until she could join him.”

  Tears leaked from Mariah’s eyes. “Oh, Joe.”

  He tightened his grip around her. Held her tight. Held her close. “Mariah,” he whispered.

  She was the one who started the kissing. Going up on her toes, planting her lips against his throat, her fingers working the knot of his tie. “Joe.”

  When she reached his chin, he lowered his head to give her easier access to his mouth. His arms tightened and he pulled her up hard against him, his tongue slipping softly between her teeth.

  They kissed for what seemed like hours, slow, languid kisses, designed to comfort, not inflame. But the taste of him, the heat of his body, the sound of his breathing in her ears revved her up anyway.

  Desire coiled inside her, taut as a bedspring. She nibbled and sucked, kissed and licked, enjoyed his heady masculine flavor. Quickly, the hunger spread, shooting heat throughout her entire system. She had to have him or go mad. She didn’t care if it was for all the wrong reasons.

  Her body ached and throbbed, and only Joe could sate her. She reached up to thread her arms around his neck, shove her fingers through his hair, tug his head down farther as she intensified the kissing.

  For a few minutes, he went along with it, but when she trailed a hand to his belt, tucked her fingers into his waistband, and tugged at the buckle, Joe shook his head, pulled back. “No, Mariah, no.”

  “Why not?” she asked in a plaintive whisper. “I want you. You want me. Let’s just go for it.”

  “You’re aching and raw. Sex isn’t the answer. I just want to cuddle with you on the couch or snuggle on the bed with you. We’ve got plenty of time to have sex. There’s no rush.”

  “But I need you,” she insisted. “I need to feel you inside
me.” She reached down to touch his erection through his zipper. She could feel him growing harder. “You want me too.”

  “I do,” he said hoarsely, “but I don’t want to take advantage of our grief.”

  “We made love after Prissy and Paul’s wedding.”

  “That was different. You weren’t raw and vulnerable.”

  “Why is it so wrong to make love now?”

  “You just want to feel better.”

  “That’s true. I do.”

  “Sex isn’t going to take away the pain.”

  “I know that. But I need to be close to someone. I need to feel you inside of me. Please, Joe, please.”

  “Oh God, Mariah.”

  “Please,” she whimpered.

  He scooped her up in his arms, carried her to her bedroom, kicked the door open with his boot, and then gently laid her out on the bed. He stepped back, looked down at her, his eyes full of sorrow and tenderness. “You are so beautiful.”

  She went up on her knees, reached out for him, her fingers undoing the buttons of his shirt.

  “You want to make love?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Fine, we’ll make love.” He stripped off his jacket, undid his buttons.

  While he was undressing, she pulled her dress over her head, flung it over the doorknob. He made a noise, half pleasure, half pain, and joined her on the bed.

  They finished undressing each other. Slowly, sweetly.

  Then when they were completely naked, Joe pressed her down into the mattress covered by a quilt Clover had given her. He dropped kisses all over her face. She wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him close to her. His hard shaft rested against her thigh. He looked down at her with gentle eyes.

  “Sweetheart,” he murmured, “this isn’t going to bring any of them back.”

  “I know, but maybe, just maybe it will bring me back.”

  Those must have been the magic words he was hoping to hear, because he groaned and slowly entered her.

  She was hot and slick for him, hungry for his body. She spread her legs wider. He eased in deep. She whispered his name. He whispered hers right back.

  Their previous joining had been playful, joyous. They’d enjoyed themselves. This lovemaking was not joyful. It was not playful. It was somber and heavy, but laden with a meaning far deeper than sexual enjoyment. In this joining, a spiritual component locked them together. This was conviction. An exultation of the soul.

  Clover was gone, reunited with her beloved Carl at last.

  Dutch was gone too.

  And Becca.

  But Mariah and Joe were still here. Physical beings expressing their growing sentiment for each other the only way they knew how. Through kissing, touching, holding, melding.

  This merging . . . this was . . . precious.

  It was a moment she would remember always. The soothing of grief through love, a pure emotion of two spirits joined as one.

  The circumstances surrounding their lovemaking were unhappy, but she could already feel the healing. The people they’d loved were dead, but they were still alive. Alive and with each other.

  There was comfort to be extracted here. Comfort and a vast understanding that love couldn’t be killed. They would always love the people they’d lost, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t love each other as well.

  Love.

  She did love Joe. Had suspected she’d been in love with him for many weeks. She’d just been afraid to admit it. Consummating their passion had assured her it was true—but this—this grief sex cemented everything. She wanted to tell him that she loved him. Loved him so much that her heart was overflowing with it, overflowing and mingling with her sorrow, a bittersweet balm for the dark things in the world. But she was still afraid. If she said it and he didn’t say it back . . . well . . . she didn’t think she could stand that.

  So she said nothing, but she showed him how much she loved him. She used her tongue and fingers. Her body was an instrument of everything she felt, giving him full access to her.

  Then a mighty rapture rolled through their bodies. A feeling of completeness so true and real it took possession of their minds, hearts, and souls.

  She and Joe were one.

  Chapter Twenty

  Good sense comes from experience, and a lotta that comes from actin’ like a damn fool.

  —Dutch Callahan

  The sun spilling through the window awoke Mariah. For one brief moment, she smiled, her body sweetly achy from the night she’d spent with Joe, but then she remembered. The fire. Her chapel. Clover. Everything.

  Gone.

  Her smile vanished and the sorrow seeped in again.

  She reached for solace, throwing her arm across the other side of the bed in search of Joe, but found nothing except cool, empty sheets.

  And a note.

  Her hand fisted around the crinkle of notebook paper. She sat up, pushed the hair from her eyes, and squinted in the morning light.

  Gone to Will Rogers Coliseum with Cordy and Miracle. Sleep in. The final event isn’t until noon. See you there. Later on, we have to talk.

  We have to talk.

  That sounded ominous. Joe hadn’t awakened her. Hadn’t taken her with him. What did that mean? Was he going to tell her things were moving too fast? And here she’d been on the verge of professing her love for him. Thank God, she’d never actually said it. All the joy she’d experienced in his arms the night before evaporated, and doubt bombarded her.

  Don’t freak. It’s probably nothing. He wants you at the event. That’s a good thing.

  What if he wanted to break up?

  But why? What had she done? Last night had been so special. Maybe that was it. Maybe it had been too special and he’d freaked. Maybe he wasn’t ready for this deeper step. Well, maybe she wasn’t ready for it either. If he wanted to back off, take a break, then okay. She could go back to light and easy. That’s the way she’d wanted it in the first place. But then, but then . . .

  She’d fallen in love.

  Oh God, she was in love with him and he didn’t feel the same way about her. He still loved Becca. That’s what he wanted to talk to her about. To let her down easy. He must have sensed she was feeling more for him than he was feeling for her and he wanted to untangle things before they got too knotted up.

  Except the leaden weight in her stomach told her it was already way too late. She was in too deep.

  Chill! Don’t borrow trouble. Just go to the futurity, cheer him on, and let whatever happens be okay.

  Easy to say, but so damn hard to do. She wanted him so much. It was scary how much she wanted him. She’d never ever wanted a man like this. She’d finally let down her guard and now here she was, naked to the world, waiting for the smack in the face.

  It might not be a smack in the face. You might get lucky like Cassie did with Ignacio.

  She got out of bed filled with tremulous hope. Got dressed in the cowgirl clothes she’d grown accustomed to wearing. This morning, however, the outfit felt as alien as it had the first day she’d put it on. She had an apple for breakfast. She shrugged into a jacket, went outside, and walked over to the charred husk of the chapel. The burned-out smell of sooty destruction curled in her nose. Gone. All gone.

  Honestly, there was no longer anything for her here. She’d proved she could start her own wedding planning business. If she could do it in Jubilee, she could do it anywhere. This had been a steppingstone. A learning opportunity. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be anything more than that.

  If Joe didn’t want her—if he was still too much in love with Becca to embrace what they could have together—she could start over. Start again. Even though the very idea made her sick to her stomach.

  For a long time, she stood there, thinking about Joe, thinking about her options. Thinking about what she wanted. Mostly, she didn’t want to get hurt.

  Too late. Too late for that.

  Finally, she wandered past Joe’s place, headed toward the mailbox that s
at beside his at the end of the road. She’d let the mail stack up since the fire. In the box, she found the contract from Destiny. On her walk back up the road, she opened it up.

  Here it was. Her ticket out.

  If she wanted out. Last night she would have said wild horses couldn’t have dragged her back to Chicago, but now? Worry clutched her throat.

  You’re being silly, borrowing trouble. Do something to keep your mind occupied until it’s time to leave for the futurity.

  Determined to shake off the apprehension, she went back into the cabin, tossing Destiny’s contract on the kitchen table as she passed by on her way to the bathroom. She pulled her makeup kit from the drawer, took out her mascara wand, and stared at herself in the mirror. Who was she now? City girl or country woman? Cowgirl or cosmopolitan? Dutch’s daughter or Destiny’s employee or Joe’s . . . what?

  She stroked on too much mascara. She blinked and it smeared underneath her left eye. It gave her a battered look. She reached for a sheet of toilet paper to blot it away.

  Darn it. Out of toilet paper.

  Sighing, she padded to the hallway closet for a new roll. When she opened the door, Stuffy fell from the top shelf where she’d stowed him the day she’d cleaned the cabin from top to bottom, barely missing striking her shoulder.

  The snake hit the ground hard and the chunk of the shellacked wood that he was mounted on cracked open. A white envelope fluttered to the floor.

  A secret compartment.

  She hadn’t known there was a secret compartment in the base of the snake. Bending at the waist, she picked up the letter. It had her name printed on it and the address of the place where she and her mother had lived when Mariah was fourteen. In the far left corner was her father’s name and address.

  On the far right was an uncanceled stamp. The edges of the envelope were yellowed with age.

  Forgetting all about her smeared mascara and the toilet paper, Mariah cradled the letter to her chest. Goose bumps lifted on her arms. A message from the past. Did she have the courage to open it after all these years?