Page 7 of The Cowboy's Country Charm

She wondered if he’d seen combat. “I imagine most people after ten years would consider it their career.”

He shrugged. “Guess I’m not most people.”

“Are you a pilot?” She’d heard about air force pilots being tomcats.

He shook his head. “No. Pararescue. Search and extraction.”

Sounded intriguing. And dangerous. And not at all like a tomcat. “So you really are Rusty to the rescue.”

He turned away. “I imagine you have last-minute things that have to get done. What can I help with?”

She couldn’t think of another man in her circle who would have been so accommodating. So unlike her ex, who thought he was the one in charge and giving orders, no matter the occasion. “Actually, I was just getting ready to lay down the red carpet.” She pointed to the rolled-up rug. “It is going to run from the foyer into the hall.”

“At your service. On one condition.”

“Only one?”

“You and I go for a drink after the wedding is over. I know a friendly bar not too far out of town that I think you’d like. Just to wind down and talk.”

She sighed inwardly. She could certainly lay the carpet herself, so this was awkward. And yet… “Honestly I’m not interested in anything but getting the business going.” She wanted to be clear up front, even though he did intrigue her.

“Just talking about unwinding with a celebratory drink in a nice bar after a stressful night. And finding out more about An Affair to Remember. I might be able to help connect you to potential clients.”

He was persistent, but charming about it. “Okay. If I’m not dead on my feet.”Or something goes horribly wrong.

“I’m around to make sure you won’t be.”

Chapter 3

For the first fifteen minutes, things went smoothly as the guests trickled in wearing their country finery and driving mostly pickups and SUVs. But then things ramped up. As sweat dripped off his face, Rusty realized a line of cars was forming and threatening to spill into the street, and he was having trouble keeping up with tagging the keys.

As if by magic, Kristy was by his side. “I’ll take the next one.” She grabbed a tag from the stand. Before he could say anything, she had moved to the driver’s side of the next car in line and was taking the key from the guest’s hand.

He ran down to the second car in the row, grabbed the keys, tagged them, and followed behind her, driving into the lot across the street that Kristy had commandeered for the day. He sprinted back, she walked, and slowly, likely due to those spiked heels.

Parking cars would assure she was dead on her feet come the end of the night. Not something he wanted, but he doubted he could persuade her to stop.

This time she followed behind him as they drove the next two vehicles in line. He wanted to wait for her to get out of the car after she parked it, but he didn’t dare, not with the cars cramming the parking lot.

He took the next car and was back at the building before she’d left with a car. And still the cars were piling up. He jumped into the next car in line, and this time, after parking the car, he caught up with her.

“You don’t have to do this. People can wait.”

“And have this be their memory of the wedding? Not a chance. I just wish I had some running shoes or something.

“I’ve got an old pair of sneakers in my truck.” Smelly ones he used for mucking about horse stalls, but they had to be kinder on her feet than spiked heels.

“Get them. Please.” She sounded desperate and relieved at the same time.

He detoured to his truck, which was parked on the nearside of the overflow lot, grabbed the sneakers from the backseat, and despite the heat ran the rest of the way back to catch up with her.

The driver of the next car in line was handing her the keys and she was tagging them when caught her.

Breathing heavy from the run (when had he lost his stamina?), he held up the dirty sneakers. “These are going to be pretty big. I’m a size twelve.”

“Doesn’t matter. They have to be more comfortable than these.” She was already sliding the straps off her heel as the guests hustled into the hall.

He handed her the battered sneakers. She threw them down onto the hot pavement, slipped out of her heels one foot at a time, and stood on the sneakers. She wriggled her slender toes, the nails painted bright pink. By his reckoning, her shoe size couldn’t be more than a size nine.

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