Page 19 of A Week To Wed
I spend the next two hours picking up muddied slips of paper out of the grass and out of puddles. Lady and I must have covered a hundred acres.
When I’ve picked up every piece of paper I can see, Lady and I head back to the barn. I cool her down, leaving Harley to groom her, and then head over to the wood shop with my pile of filthy paperwork.
I spread everything out on work tables and use rocks to secure everything. Leaving both doors open on either end of the shop, I create as much of a wind tunnel as I can to help the pages dry out. Hopefully, when I finish my chores today, the pages will be dry enough that I can scrape the rest of the mud off easily.
Looking over things, I notice some of the pages appear to be a spreadsheet she’s printed out with the names of guests on them.
Curious, I read down the list. Almost all of them, it appears, have responded in person or via e-vites. And the list is a mile long. I check the number at the bottom: 187.
How? When did she have the time? And who?
There are names on here of people I’ve known my whole life. Curtis who runs the farmer’s market. Trudy from the grocery store. George from the pharmacy. Milly, who works for the city. Zeke and Serena from the Wilkins Ranch north of here. My nephew, Jonas from Whitlock Organics. So many people. Almost the entire population of Darling Creek is coming to my wedding.
But why? How?
“Ray, did you know she’s got almost two hundred people coming to this shindig?” I ask when I catch up with him later today.
Ray, riding on Fuego today, snorts. “Yeah, man. The wedding is all anybody’s talking about in town. Where’ve you been?”
“Driving cattle. Fixing shit. Shoveling poop. Bailing hay.”
He snorts. “I get it, I get it. Listen, it wouldn’t kill you to go to town more than once a month. Then you’d know things. Your girl showed up at Willie’s Sunday night and passed out invitations. Left a huge stack of ‘em on the bar, saying everyone in town is invited.”
“She what?”
She went to Willie’s? After I told her not to? No, wait a minute. Looking back on what happened earlier today, I need to rethink how I react to her. Besides driving her around, I haven’t been much help with planning. She’s a resourceful woman who took things into her own hands. So, why didn’t I see anyone from her side of the family on that list? It was all local folks.
Ray sees my consternation. “Listen, there’s not a lot to do around Darling Creek. So any chance for free food and liquor and a little dancing with a drunk bridesmaid? You know everyone in town is going to show up.”
That must be it. Maisy plied everyone with the promise of a lavish party.
No way they’re coming because of me. I don’t tell Ray that there won’t be any bridesmaids on Saturday, let alone drunk ones. I need him to show up.
It warms my heart that this woman has done so much legwork, but still, I don’t like the idea of her going to Willie’s without me.
My need to keep an eye on her is battling it out with feelings of pride in her. She invited almost every man, woman, and child in Darling Creek because I’m getting married.
Once again I misjudged her. I thought all the wedding details were frivolous and all about her. When really, she wants me to be celebrated, too.
ChapterThirteen
Maisy
I’m just about to pour the sticky batter into the waffle iron when I hear the sound of familiar boots coming up the porch steps and the jangle of Molly’s and Frank’s dog collars.
Dammit. Lincoln’s home early for dinner, and I just got started. The two border collies trot into the kitchen and immediately begin following me, appreciating the bacon scent that spurred Loki out of bed this evening.
The bath was so lovely, and so was the nap that followed, with me drifting off into a brief dreamland with the memory of Lincoln’s lips on mine and his hands on my neck. And dreams about what else he might want to do with me with those hands, those lips, that broad, tight body.
Supper was supposed to be a surprise.
Ray and Harley have taken it upon themselves to run some errands for me in town and let me know they’ll grab dinner at Willie’s.
Instead, Lincoln surprisesme. He kicks off his muddy boots and bursts through the screen door so abruptly that I don’t even have time to look shocked.
He still has his hat and fleece-lined jacket on when he comes for me, kissing me so hard that my body arches backward. The spouted mixing bowl is still in my hand as my other arm grips his shoulder to keep from stumbling. I gasp into his mouth, then melt into him as his arm goes around my hips, steadying me.
The kiss is hot and rough and tastes like his sweat, and I don’t mind at all. His tongue licks into my mouth. No teasing, no playing, all hunger. Lincoln slants his mouth over mine and claims me, squeezing me tight to him, taking the breath from my lungs.
