Page 2 of Her Jolly Cowboy
He straightens. “Blizzard? Last I checked, it was just a regular snowstorm.”
I pull up the weather app my assistant forced me to download. “Winter storm warning starts tonight. Heavy snow, high winds, and possible whiteout conditions tomorrow. Roads could close.”
Luke whistles low. “Well, shit.”
“Language,” I snap automatically, then wince. “Sorry. Reflex.”
He laughs, the sound rolling through the rafters. “Don’t apologize. I like you bossy.”
Heat crawls up my neck. I ignore it and march toward the side door that leads to the equipment area. “I need to check the backup heaters. If the power goes—” My heel hits a patch of ice.
The world tilts. My planner flies. My latte becomes a sacrificial offering to the snow gods. I’m preparing to hit the ground when strong arms band around my waist, hauling me upright before I can face-plant. My back hits a hard chest; a bearded jaw brushes my temple.
“Easy, Boss Lady,” Luke murmurs, breath warm against my ear. “Ground’s tryin’ to get fresh with you.”
I’m plastered against him from thigh to chest. One of his hands is splayed across my stomach, the other dangerously low on my hip. I can feel every inch of him—warm, solid, and annoyingly calm while my heart is trying to jump out of my chest.
I shove away so fast I almost fall again. “I’m fine.”
“Uh-huh.” He retrieves my planner, brushes snow off it with exaggerated care, and hands it over. “Are you always this graceful?”
“Usually I can stay on my feet,” I mutter, snatching the planner.
He grins like I just paid him the highest compliment.
I stomp, carefully, toward the heaters, mentally reciting the timeline to keep from combusting. Luke follows, still whistling.
We spend the next hour testing outlets and arguing about extension cords. I climb a ladder to check light placement while he stands below holding it steady and definitely staring at my ass. I pretend not to notice.
By noon, the sky has gone purple, and the wind is picking up in sharp gusts. My phone buzzes with alerts: BLIZZARD WARNING UPGRADED. TRAVEL NOT ADVISED AFTER 6 P.M.
I stare at the screen until the words blur.
Luke comes up behind me, close enough that his chest brushes my shoulder blades. “Hey.”
I don’t turn around. “This cannot happen. The florist is coming from Bozeman tomorrow. The cake is supposed to arrive tomorrow. Half the guests are flying into Billings.”
“Holly.” His voice is softer now. “Breathe.”
I spin. “Do you not understand? This wedding has to be perfect. Frankie and Rhett are the best and I promised them.”
“I get it.” He lifts both hands, calm. “But Mother Nature doesn’t give a shit about timelines. We’ll figure it out.”
“We?”
“Me, Rhett, Grandma, the whole damn ranch if we have to. You’re not doing this alone.”
Something warm and dangerous unfurls in my chest. I squash it.
“I need to call the caterer,” I say, already scrolling contacts.
Luke plucks the phone from my hand, gentle but firm. “You need to eat something before you vibrate into another dimension from all the caffeine you’ve consumed. Come on. Grandma’s got chili.”
I open my mouth to argue. My stomach growls loud enough to echo.
He smirks. “That’s what I thought.”
I let him lead me across the yard to the farmhouse. Inside smells like heaven. There’s chili simmering and cornbread baking. Frankie is laughing in the kitchen with Grandma Martha. Rhett is on the phone by the window, voice low and reassuring, calming a panicked guest.
