Page 3 of Her Jolly Cowboy
Luke pulls out a chair for me, and I sit.
His grandma sets a steaming bowl in front of me. “Eat, honey. Storm’s comin’ fast. You’ll need your strength.”
Frankie slides into the seat beside me, eyes sparkling. “So? First impressions of the ranch?”
“Beautiful,” I say. “Your future brother-in-law has been helpful.”
Luke drops into the chair across from me, grinning. “She loves me already.”
I kick him under the table. He doesn’t even flinch, just stretches those long legs out until his boot nudges my ankle and stays there.
Rhett ends his call and joins us. “The county just closed the pass. Looks like anyone who’s not here by tonight is stuck till after Christmas.”
Frankie’s face falls. “But the cake—”
“We’ll make a new one,” Grandma says firmly. “Won’t be the first time.”
I stare at my chili like it personally betrayed me.
Luke leans forward, elbows on the table, voice pitched low so only I can hear. “Hey. It’s gonna be okay.”
Our knees are touching now. I don’t move away. Outside, the wind picks up, rattling the windows like it’s trying to get in.
I look at Luke, really look at him. There’s still snow in his dark hair, his green eyes are steady, and that ridiculous half-smile is making my stomach flip.
I pick up my spoon. “Fine,” I say. “But if this wedding isn’t perfect, I’m blaming you.”
He lifts his coffee mug in a mock toast. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Chapter two
Luke
I’m on my third bowl of Grandma’s chili and still trying to figure out how to breathe normally when Holly Jameson is sitting across the table from me.
Every time she leans forward to scribble something in that damn planner, the fabric of her shirt pulls tight across her chest, and I forget my own name.
Frankie is chattering about contingency bouquets made of pine cones and ribbon. Rhett’s nodding along like a man who learned long ago that a happy fiancée equals a happy life. Grandma’s refilling coffee like this is just another Tuesday.
Holly, meanwhile, is color-coding the apocalypse.
“Florist is stuck in Livingston,” she mutters, pen flying. “Cake is officially a hostage in Bozeman. We have three days until the wedding, only one case of champagne, and I’ve exactly one nervous breakdown allotted per day. I’m taking mine at 3 p.m. tomorrow.”
Rhett raises an eyebrow. “You scheduled your breakdown?”
“Efficiency,” she says without looking up.
I grin into my cornbread. Fuck, I like her. I like the way she snaps orders like a whip and somehow makes it sound sexy. I like the way her mouth purses when she’s concentrating. I like that she hasn’t once looked at me like I’m just the dumb cowboy who hauls hay for a living.
Frankie kicks my shin under the table. “Luke, stop staring at Holly like she’s the last slice of pecan pie.”
Holly’s head snaps up. “I’m right here.”
“Exactly,” Frankie says sweetly. “Which is why you don’t need that overpriced hotel in town. I told you the roads were going to close.”
Holly waves a hand. “Hotel has a backup generator, a spa tub, and zero animals waking me up at 4 a.m.”
Grandma snorts. “Our animals have better manners than most men.”
