At a magical time of year...

Can a cowboy help falling in love?

For single dad Owen Caufield, living and working at Sweetheart Ranch for a month is the perfect change of pace. While the cowboy turned wedding officiant can now spend more time with his children, Molly O’Malley, his new boss, is less thrilled. A wedding ranch isn’t the best place for three rambunctious youngsters. But amid the chaos—and the coming holidays—it may be the best place to fall in love...

Since 2006, New York Times bestselling author CATHY MCDAVID has been happily penning contemporary Westerns for Harlequin. Every day, she gets to write about handsome cowboys riding the range or busting a bronc. It’s a tough job, but she’s willing to make the sacrifice. Cathy shares her Arizona home with her own real-life sweetheart and a trio of odd pets. Her grown twins have left to embark on lives of their own, and she couldn’t be prouder of their accomplishments.

Also By Cathy McDavid

Mustang Valley

Last Chance Cowboy

Her Cowboy’s Christmas Wish

Baby’s First Homecoming

Cowboy for Keeps

Her Holiday Rancher

Come Home, Cowboy

Having the Rancher’s Baby

Rescuing the Cowboy

A Baby for the Deputy

The Cowboy’s Twin Surprise

The Bull Rider’s Valentine

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

A Cowboy’s Christmas Proposal

Cathy McDavid

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09039-1

A COWBOY’S CHRISTMAS PROPOSAL

© 2018 by Cathy McDavid

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

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“Goodnight, Owen.” She started to leave.

He reached for her. “Wait.”

“What?”

Placing his hands on her shoulders, he tilted her toward the porch light. “You have some soot on your face.”

“Do I?” She dabbed at her cheeks, smearing rather than removing the soot.

“Here. Let me.”

He removed a kerchief from his coat pocket and gently wiped her face. While pretending to scrutinize his work, he studied her eyes, which never veered from his.

Molly might have trouble expressing her innermost feelings but they were clearly telegraphed in the tiny nuances of her expression. What Owen saw made his heart bounce wildly inside his chest. She didn’t entirely object to his touch. Even enjoyed it.

He took a leap, not caring about the consequences. “I’m going to kiss you, Molly.”

“You are?” she breathed.

“Unless you object.”

He waited for her to say she did. When one moment stretched into two, he dipped his head and brushed his lips slowly across hers.

Dear Reader,

It’s true, change is inevitable—and I say that with a big smile on my face. A Cowboy’s Christmas Proposal represents two big changes for me, ones I’m really excited about. After thirty books for Harlequin Western Romance, I’m now writing for Harlequin Heartwarming and couldn’t be happier. I’ve been a huge fan of the line for years. I love the longer length that allows me to more fully explore the main characters’ relationship. Also, several of my close friends write for Heartwarming, and I couldn’t be in better company.

The other big change is that A Cowboy’s Christmas Proposal is the first of four books in a brand-new series, The Sweetheart Ranch. The idea came to me not long ago when I was researching wedding venues online for my own wedding—yes, I’m still a bit of a newlywed. I thought what fun it would be to create a Western-themed honeymoon bed-and-breakfast complete with a wedding chapel. It was an “aha” moment that just felt right!

I hope you enjoy Molly and Owen’s story. They are a perfectly mismatched couple who are, of course, perfect for each other. They just need to figure that out.

Warmest wishes,

Cathy McDavid

PS: I love connecting with readers. Find me at Facebook.com/cathymcdavidbooks, on Twitter, @cathymcdavid, and at cathymcdavid.com.

To Kathleen. You’ve given me so many incredible opportunities during my career with Harlequin, including this one. Thank you for the chance to continue writing the kinds of books I love and to find brand-new readers.

You are the best.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Dear Reader

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

HEARING WHAT SOUNDED like a hammer banging against metal, Molly O’Malley tossed the covers aside and sat bolt upright. Her sister had beaten her to the shower. Again. Now she’d be late getting downstairs—the last thing she wanted today of all days. After endless planning, preparation and backbreaking labor, Sweetheart Ranch was finally opening for business.

Molly pushed herself out of bed, excitement and nervousness replacing the fog of sleep. Grabbing her flannel robe hanging from the bedpost, she padded to the closet, every third floorboard creaking in angry protest. A single tug on the antique glass knob and the closet door glided open. Thank goodness. It just as often stuck and refused to budge.

Like the faulty water pressure in the pipes and the creaking floorboards, no amount of tinkering had remedied the finicky closet door. Molly’s grandmother, Emily, claimed the many quirks only added to the old house’s charm.

Molly did agree the house possessed a certain appeal. People raved over the quaint and rustic decor inspired by local history, nearby cattle ranches and the herd of wild mustangs that had once roamed the valley. At least, those were the comments Molly had received from guests who’d viewed their website and booked a wedding, or a honeymoon stay in one of the six cabins.

Five weddings were scheduled these last four days of November and a dozen so far in December. Understandably, the holidays were a popular time to get married. What better than to combine two joyous occasions?

Only 50 percent of the ranch’s cabins, however, had been booked. As head of guest relations, Molly worried. Grandma Em, their resident wedding coordinator, had assured her the situation was temporary. Lately, she’d issued the statement with a twinkle in her eye.

That, too, worried Molly. Grandma Em had poured almost her entire savings into the ranch, converting her country home on ten acres into what would hopefully be the most popular, and most unique, wedding venue and bed-and-breakfast in Arizona. She should be fretting and pacing and biting her nails to the quick. Or, like Molly, racing around in a constant state of agitation. She certainly shouldn’t be dismissing valid concerns with a casual shrug.

Molly contemplated the three O’Malley women as she chose an outfit. They were a study in contrast, each of them dealing with stress differently. While Molly planned for every conceivable catastrophe, her older sister, Bridget, stayed up late testing recipes and developing menus. Grandma Em, perhaps the smartest of them, took things in stride.

Both sisters had worked in the hospitality industry since graduating college—Bridget as a pastry chef and Molly in hotel administration. When their grandmother had called last summer and invited them to share in her long-held dream of owning and operating a Western-themed wedding ranch, they’d jumped at the chance—for entirely different reasons.

Hurrying down the hall, Molly stopped at the bathroom door and knocked loudly.

“You almost done?”

“Give me two minutes,” Bridget hollered above another pipe-banging symphony.

Molly groaned in frustration, more annoyed with herself for oversleeping than at her sister for dawdling. She’d stayed up late last night, too, envisioning every detail of their grand opening and mentally reviewing her lengthy to-do list.

While she waited, her glance traveled the hall to Grandma Em’s bedroom. She’d apparently risen some time ago, for the door sat ajar and not a single peep came from inside the room.

Likely, she was downstairs, making coffee and toasting homemade bagels for breakfast. Molly was straining her ears for any hint of activity when Bridget flung open the bathroom door and emerged from behind a cloud of steam.

“Thanks for hogging the entire hot water supply.”

“Get up earlier next time.”

Molly huffed as she shouldered past her sister. Being adults didn’t stop them from squabbling like they had when they were young.

“Whatever.” Bridget darted to her room, tucking in the tail of the bath towel she wore on her head like a turban. Several red tendrils had escaped and lay plastered against her neck, forming a row of inverted question marks. Molly’s own wavy hair would look the same when she stepped from the shower.

It was one of many similarities between them. They shared freckled cheeks, a cleft in their chins, a love of sweets and an unwavering determination to marry a man just like their late father.

They also had their differences. Big ones. While Bridget was an open book, messy to a fault, and tended to easily trust people, Molly kept her thoughts and feelings to herself, preferred her surroundings and every aspect of her life to be neat and tidy, and exercised caution in all situations.

She had good reason. Her twice-wounded heart needed protecting. Grandma Em’s invitation, issued on the heels of Molly’s latest breakup, had provided the perfect opportunity. She’d packed her car and bid Southern California goodbye without a single regret.

Molly showered in record time before the hot water really did run out—another quirk of the old house—then returned to her room. After throwing on her clothes, she ran a brush through her wet hair. She’d style it and apply makeup later, before the open house started at noon. There was simply too much to accomplish before then.

Of course Bridget had beaten her downstairs. Molly made straight for the kitchen, expecting to be assaulted by the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and toasting bagels. Instead, Bridget stood at the counter, dropping clumps of thick, chocolatey batter onto a cookie sheet. The coffeepot sat untouched.

“Where’s Grandma?” Molly asked, mildly irritated. She desperately needed to fuel up on caffeine.

“I haven’t seen her yet.”

How odd. Maybe she was on an emergency run to the market for some last-minute item. Though, on second thought, the town’s one small grocery store didn’t open until nine.

“Did you call her?” Molly asked.

“Been too busy.”

Fishing her cell phone from her jeans pocket, she dialed Grandma Em. The call went straight to voice mail.

“She must have forgotten to charge her phone.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Bridget slid the cookie sheet into the oven.

Ignoring the twinge of anxiety winding through her, Molly set down her phone and filled the coffeepot with water. They did have a brand-new individual cup brewing system in the dining room, but that was reserved for guests.

“Do you think we were wrong to plan our grand opening in the middle of the holiday season?” she asked. “It’s still technically Thanksgiving weekend. People are going to be out shopping or putting up Christmas decorations.”

“We can’t afford to wait.”

“True.” Expenses were mounting while revenues wouldn’t pick up until after they officially opened. Molly knew that for a fact as she handled the ranch books.

It was then she spotted the small piece of notepaper taped to the refrigerator. Grandma Em’s familiar handwriting jumped out at her.

“What’s this?” With her free hand, Molly tore off the note and started reading. The next instant, her fingers went slack, and she nearly dropped the pot. “I don’t believe it!”

“What’s wrong?” Bridget glanced up from sprinkling flour onto a rolling mat.

“Grandma’s gone.” The words fell from Molly’s mouth in a shocked whisper.

“Where? The café?”

“Try the Grand Canyon and then Nevada. In Homer’s RV.” Molly gaped at her sister, alarm battling with disbelief. “They’ve eloped. They’re getting married in Reno and then taking a monthlong road trip.”

“No way!” Bridget wiped her hands on a towel and charged across the kitchen. She snatched the note from Molly and quickly scanned the paper.

“She must be kidding,” Molly said. “Grandma wouldn’t leave on the day of our open house for anything. Right?”

“I don’t know. She might.”

“What are you talking about?”

Bridget thrust the note back at her. “She made a comment the other day about really liking Homer.”

That was news to Molly. Yes, Grandma and Homer were friends and went out to lunch sometimes. But eloping? Surely Molly would have noticed her grandmother falling in love. She wasn’t entirely self-absorbed.

“You should have told me.”

“Honestly,” Bridget said, “I didn’t think a lot about it other than if Grandma had a boyfriend, then good for her. At least one of us was dating.”

“Apparently, he’s a lot more than a boyfriend. They’re getting married!” Without Molly and her sister and their family in attendance. She tried to ignore the sharp stab of hurt. “What about the grand opening? Grandma’s our hostess. And who’s going to marry people?”

Grandma Em had originally suggested they hire Homer to wed those couples without their own officiant. It had seemed like a sensible solution at the time. The O’Malleys were in need, and Homer was available since retiring from his position as minister at Valley Community Church.

“Grandma says in her note replacements for her and Homer are on the way. That everything’s been handled.”

“What kind of replacements?” Molly fought for control. She didn’t fare well with blows from left field.

“Guess we’ll find out.” Bridget returned to the counter. “Look, I need to start the bread or it won’t rise in time.”

“Bread? Really? We’re in crisis.”

Molly dug her fingers into her forehead where an ache had started to throb. Grandma leaving hours before their grand opening and marrying a man no one had had any idea she was even serious about was nothing short of insane.

Setting down the coffeepot, she grabbed her phone and dialed her grandmother’s number again, only to disconnect when the recorded greeting kicked in.

“They must be out of range.” Bridget dumped an oblong of bread dough onto the mat and began kneading. “You should have left a message.”

“And said what? The two of you had better get yourselves back home right now? We have a business to run. Guests to accommodate. Couples to unite in wedded bliss.”

Photographers. Live video streaming. Floral arrangements. Music. Decorations. Molly realized with some dismay she wasn’t as familiar with her grandmother’s job at Sweetheart Ranch as she should be. In addition to the books, Molly oversaw cabin reservations, customer service, housekeeping, marketing and the various amenities they offered. That left her too busy to participate much in the wedding planning.

“Give her a chance to explain,” Bridget advised. “Love makes people do crazy things.”

“I think we should cancel the open house.”

“Absolutely not! Our first guests arrive this afternoon, and our first wedding is at seven tonight.”

“Assuming we have a minister.”

“Relax. Take a deep breath.” Bridget followed her own advice. “Panicking will only make matters worse.”

How could her sister not panic? Their world was collapsing around them. Worst of all, Molly was about to fail at the fourth job she’d held in seven years. And this time she wasn’t to blame.

“I’m serious. We should cancel.”

“Grandma has too much money invested.” Bridget rhythmically worked the dough. “And are you willing to tell the happy couple their wedding’s off? They’re expecting to honeymoon tonight as man and wife.”

“But what if—”

“Have some faith. Grandma won’t let us down. If we haven’t heard from her by midafternoon, we’ll hire Reverend Crosby.”

“He charges a fortune.”

“Better than turning the couple away on our first day of business.”

Molly made a decision. “I’m calling Mom.”

“What’s she going to do?”

Nothing, as it turned out. She didn’t know about Grandma Em’s elopement, either, and had no advice for Molly other than to move forward as best as she and Bridget could.

“I’d love to help you,” she said. “But Doug has a touch of the flu and can’t fend for himself.”

“Thanks anyway, Mom. I’ll talk to you later.”

Left with little choice, Molly buried herself in work, her usual coping mechanism. While Bridget continued baking delicacies for the open house and a cake for that night’s reception, Molly arranged champagne flutes, crystal punch glasses, china plates and silver flatware in the parlor.

On impulse, she set out cinnamon-scented candles flanking the festive fall cornucopia in the center of the table, certain the delicious aroma would stir feelings of Christmas for their guests the same as it did for her. It was never too soon to start celebrating.

Fortunately for Molly and Bridget, the ranch’s launch wedding was on the smaller side—only twenty-seven people including the bride and groom. The most their chapel could accommodate was forty-five. The veranda held thirty for those who preferred an outdoor ceremony. For larger weddings, folding chairs could be set up on the lawn.

Over the next hour, whenever the ranch phone rang, Molly dove for the polished mahogany counter in the foyer that served as her workstation and registration desk. She answered the callers’ questions about the open house, praying that she and her sister could indeed pull off the event without their grandmother.

Expecting a delivery from the florist, Molly didn’t think twice when the front door opened. Hearing the tat-tat-tat of running feet on the foyer’s wooden floor and a child’s squeal, she paused. This was no floral delivery.

A little girl no older than three burst into the parlor at the exact moment Molly entered from the kitchen. She was quickly followed by a boy of possibly five. Hair disheveled, cheeks flushed and clothing askew, the pair skidded to a halt and stared at her.

“Oh.” Molly stared back. “Who are you?”

The next instant, the boy reached out with both arms and shoved the girl from behind. She tumbled face-first to the floor, landing half on and half off the braided rug. Instantly, a high-pitched wail filled the room. The boy, her brother given their resemblance, simply stood there, his expression a combination of victory, contrition and dread.

Molly started forward. She didn’t have a lot of experience with kids, but she could tell the girl wasn’t hurt. Not really. A bruised knee, perhaps. Molly and her sister had regularly engaged in these types of scuffles during their childhood.

“Are you okay?”

She was halfway to the girl when the arched doorway separating the parlor from the foyer and the chapel was filled by a pair of broad shoulders, a tall lanky form and a dark brown Stetson.

Molly came to a halt. She’d seen plenty of attractive cowboys since moving to Mustang Valley, but this one in his pressed jeans and Western-cut suede coat rated right up there. The fact that he balanced a third child in his left arm, this one a toddler, diminished none of his good looks.

Assuming they’d arrived early, Molly produced a smile and said, “I’m sorry. The open house doesn’t start until noon.”

“Actually...” He bent and assisted the little girl to her feet, restraining her when she would have shoved her brother in retaliation. “I’m Owen Caufield. And you must be Molly O’Malley, right?”

His name didn’t ring any bells. “Am I expecting you?”

“You are.” An appealing grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

She grew suddenly tense. Something told her that she was in for a surprise and not the happy kind.

“I’m your substitute minister. Homer Foxworthy’s my great-uncle.” Owen set the toddler down to join her siblings. “I’m staying here for the next month, through Christmas, while he and your grandmother are on their trip. Along with my kids.”

She stared at him, every particle of her being resisting. Please, someone tell her this wasn’t happening.

* * *

“NO OFFENSE, BUT you don’t look like a minister.”

Owen didn’t blame Molly for doubting him. He wasn’t really a minister. And his three intent-on-misbehaving offspring were hardly aiding his image.

“I got ordained online,” he explained. “A buddy asked me to officiate his wedding a few months ago. We had this bet and, well...”

“Is that even a real thing? Getting ordained online?”

He corralled his children closer. They’d attempted to wander off in three different directions, and the room had far too many breakables for his comfort level. “I guarantee you, I can legally marry people. In Arizona, at least.”

“Do you have any credentials?”

“I didn’t bring my certificate. I figured Uncle Homer had vouched for me.”

“What’s his cell phone number?”

Owen chuckled. “You plan on calling him to verify my story?”

“Yes.” She squared her shoulders. “I do.”

“That’s funny.”

“Oh?” She drew out the word.

“You said ‘I do.’ Like in a wedding vow. And I’m an online minister.”

“Huh.”

All right, not funny. Ms. O’Malley apparently lacked a sense of humor.

Then again, Owen was a complete stranger, and he’d obviously caught her at a bad moment, when she was overwhelmed and not expecting him. Anyone’s sense of humor would desert them.

She lifted one side of the apron she wore and produced a phone from her jeans pocket. Swiping the screen, she raised her brows expectantly. “What’s your uncle’s number?”

Owen obliged her, and she quickly entered it. He might have spent more time losing himself in the depths of her incredible green eyes, but his son chose that moment to renew the squabble with his sister.

“Cody, that’s enough.”

Owen blocked his son’s hand right before it connected with his oldest daughter, Marisa. Cody was strictly forbidden to tease or torment his little sisters. Unfortunately, that seldom deterred him, and Marisa was his target more often than Willa, the youngest.

In response, Marisa dropped to the floor and resumed crying. “I wanna go home.”

Willa collapsed beside her sister, whining in solidarity, while Cody grabbed Owen’s arm and, lifting his feet, dangled in his best monkey impersonation.

Owen attempted to quiet the girls and sent Molly an apologetic smile. This wasn’t the auspicious beginning he’d envisioned.

The sad truth was Owen didn’t know his children very well or they him. He’d been away more than he’d been home in recent years and was sorely lacking when it came to parenting skills.

One of the reasons he’d agreed to take a month off and cover for his great-uncle was the perks that came with the job. He’d been promised a cabin and plenty of free time to connect with his estranged children.

Never again would he pick them up for a scheduled visit only to have Willa not recognize him. The blow Owen suffered had been the motivator behind him turning a new leaf, and he’d vowed from that day forward nothing and no one would come before his children.

“Homer’s not answering, either.” Molly disconnected and repocketed her phone.

“I’m sure they’ll call when they reach Flagstaff. Service is pretty iffy between here and there.”

“Did your uncle coerce my grandmother?”

He thought at first she might be joking then realized she wasn’t. “I doubt it. She seemed pretty eager when they came by my house on Thursday to ask if I’d cover for Uncle Homer.”

Molly’s gaze narrowed. “Just how well do you know my grandmother?”

“We’ve met twice. I’m all the family Uncle Homer has in Arizona. Which is why, I think, they chose to elope and take a long RV trip. Uncle Homer’s son couldn’t arrange time off work on such short notice to come to a wedding, and his daughter’s scared to death of flying. He wanted your grandmother to meet his children and brothers and grandchildren, and they’re spread out over six different states. Kind of romantic, if you think about it. Eloping and touring the country.”

“Except my mom and aunt haven’t met Homer, and none of us were invited to the wedding.”

Owen heard the hurt in her voice she tried to mask and felt a need to ease it. “The way Uncle Homer put it, they were trying to be fair. His family couldn’t come here and you’re not able to leave. Eloping was a compromise.”

Molly shook her head. “Grandma wouldn’t up and leave. Sweetheart Ranch is too important to her.”

“I’m sure she put you and your sister in charge because she’s confident in your abilities to manage the ranch without her.”

“We need her. Today’s our grand opening. The mayor’s coming. And a reporter from Channel 5.” Molly glanced over her shoulder at a clock on the fireplace mantel. “They’ll be here in three hours.”

Three and a half, to be exact. But Owen didn’t correct her as his kids were again demanding his attention.

“Daddy, I’m hungry.”

“Cody kicked me.”

“Where Mama? Want Mama.” Willa stuck her pudgy thumb in her mouth and sucked lustily.

Owen bent and scooped up his youngest. He simultaneously took hold of Cody’s shirt collar before the boy made a run for it. With her siblings restrained, Marisa was likely to stick close.

“I know you’re busy,” Owen said. “If you can show us to our cabin, we’ll get out of your hair.”

“Your cabin,” Molly repeated.

“Emily mentioned she’d reserved one for us.”

“Right.” Molly’s shoulders slumped ever so slightly, another sign of how hurt she was by the elopement. “I should have guessed. She’s been planning this for weeks. That’s why she insisted our vacancies didn’t matter.”

Owen suffered a stab of guilt. Perhaps he shouldn’t have encouraged Uncle Homer. “We can stay at the inn in town if it’s a problem.”

“It isn’t,” Molly said.

“You sure?”

“Positive. The cabin’s empty anyway.”

“Daddy,” Marisa pleaded.

“I wanna eat.” Cody twisted sideways.

Convinced his luck was about to run out, Owen said, “Let me get the kids settled and give them a snack. Then we’ll be back, and you can put me to work.” He flashed his best sales rep smile in an attempt to win her over.

“You’ll help?”

“I’m capable of more than marrying people.”

“We do need a minister,” she mused. “And someone to move furniture.”

“I’m good at heavy lifting.”

She returned his smile, a genuine one this time, and Owen found himself quite captivated. Strawberry blondes were his weakness, and this one came with the added bonus of freckles.

He admired Molly for more than her looks, though. She was obviously overwhelmed from being thrust into a difficult and unexpected situation. Yet, that hadn’t prevented her from doing her job.

A nose-to-the-grindstone attitude and the ability to navigate chaos were qualities Owen appreciated, and he cultivated them in himself. He attributed his success in two careers—professional cowboy and marketing—to those same qualities. He had every intention of applying them to repairing his strained relationship with his children.

Before any of them had taken a step, the front door whooshed opened. Molly went visibly weak with relief. “Finally! The flowers are here.”

Owen wished his arms were a foot longer. The better to contain Cody who was intent on beating the rest of them outside.

“Slow down, partner.”

Rather than the florist, a pinch-faced, pint-size elderly woman in a large, drab coat entered the parlor. Molly was about to be disappointed for a second time.

Except she immediately brightened. “Nora! Please tell me you’re here to rescue us.”

“What else would get me out of bed at this ungodly hour?”

Was eight forty-five an ungodly hour? Apparently for Nora it was.

“I assume this is Homer’s great-nephew.” Removing her coat, she gave Owen careful consideration. “He didn’t mention you were easy on the eyes.”

Owen grinned. “He didn’t mention you were, either.”

Her dour countenance magically transformed into a delighted grin. “And charming to boot. I do believe this next month is going to be quite enjoyable.”

“For me, too.”

She twittered. Owen didn’t think he’d heard a woman twitter since he first met his former mother-in-law.

“Are you a witch?” Cody glowered at her. “I don’t like witches.”

Owen was tempted to cover his son’s mouth before the boy embarrassed him further. “Sorry about that.”

“No worries. Your children are adorable. Emily asked me to watch them while you’re busy marrying folks. Got a half-dozen of my own grandkids, so I’m plenty experienced.”

Owen thought her assessment of his kids was much too kind. “I’d be very grateful and will compensate you.”

“Emily’s paying my salary. Said childcare was part of her arrangement with you.”

It was, but Owen didn’t want to take advantage.

“Did Grandma tell you she was eloping?” Molly asked Nora.

“I’m her best friend. She called me last night.”

Molly scowled. “She left us a note.”

“Don’t go getting bent out of shape. She didn’t tell you because you’d have tried to talk her out of it.”

“I absolutely would have.”

“See?” Nora moved her suitcase-sized purse to her other arm. I’m also supposed to take over guest relations for you.”

“What?” Molly drew back. “No!”

Nora shrugged. “Suit yourself. But it’s either that or wedding coordinator, and I’m thinking you’ll be a whole lot better at coordinating weddings than me, considering you have experience planning two of your own.”

Molly ignored the comment and faced Owen. “I’ll fetch the cabin key and meet you there. Number six. Drive around back. Farthest one on the left.” With that, she left.

Owen watched her retreating back. Molly had been married twice?

“Touched a nerve, apparently,” Nora said, erupting in laughter.

CHAPTER TWO

MOLLY WALKED TO the cabins, ruthlessly zipping her jacket against the late-November chill. She shouldn’t care what Owen thought of her. She hardly knew the man. They’d met mere minutes ago. So what if he was good-looking. He had three children and was probably married.

Then again, would a husband leave his wife for a month and take the kids? She doubted it, and he wasn’t the type. Owen Caufield had responsible written all over him.

Rather than continue fuming, she directed her anger where it belonged. At Nora for blabbing what was Molly’s personal business to a complete stranger, and at her grandmother for leaving her and Bridget in this predicament. The Saturday after Thanksgiving, no less.

True, Molly would have tried to talk Grandma Em out of eloping, but that was no reason to hide her plans. As her trusted employees who were expected to cover for her, and as her granddaughters, Molly and Bridget should have been told. Had deserved to be told.

Despite what Owen said, his great-uncle must have convinced Grandma Em to elope. There was no other reasonable explanation. According to him, Grandma Em and Homer were trying to be fair. Really? There was nothing fair about excluding everyone from the wedding.

Twice Molly had come very close to walking down the aisle. Both times she couldn’t have imagined the day without her parents, sister, extended family and friends there to share in the celebration. Not having loved ones present seemed almost...a sacrilege. It was certainly selfish, inconsiderate and hurtful to those not invited.

Love makes people do crazy things.

Bridget’s words echoed in Molly’s ears as she cut through the courtyard, bypassed the gated swimming pool and clubhouse, and skirted the storage room that contained bikes, hiking equipment, lawn games and a washer and dryer for the guests’ use. She emerged on the other side at the same moment a silver pickup truck, Owen’s she presumed, proceeded slowly along the dirt lane circling the back of the ranch house.

Ahead of Molly were six cabins, spaced approximately twenty yards apart. Constructed of pine to resemble the main house built in the 1880s, the cabins were new and blissfully without quirks. Rule number one in the hospitality industry: guests didn’t like being disturbed by clanging pipes, the periodic flickering light and a furnace that grumbled like an old man.

The stables and carriage house were a short distance away. Also part of the original homestead, the twin structures had been refurbished by the same contractor who’d built the cabins. Two draft horses resided in the stables, their job to pull the wedding carriage on romantic rides through town—Sweetheart Ranch’s signature amenity for the happy couple. In addition to the carriage, the ranch also had an old farm wagon used for hayrides.

Big Jim, a semiretired wrangler from one of the many cattle ranches in the area, worked part-time for the O’Malleys. He saw to the horses’ care and drove the team. He was in the stables now, cleaning stalls in preparation for the open house, which would include tours of the cabins and the horse facilities.

Grandma Em had insisted on everything being spic-and-span. Except she wasn’t here to see it.

Molly fought against the rush of tears threatening to fall. She wasn’t about to let Owen Caufield see her cry. She was on the verge of enjoying her first successful job of a thus-far lackluster hotel administration career. Without her grandmother’s guidance and support, history might well repeat itself.

Could this be a test? Was Grandma Em attempting to determine if Molly had the necessary skills to assist managing Sweetheart Ranch and potentially take over one day? For all Molly knew, her grandmother could return tomorrow morning after the open house had bombed and tell Molly her previous employers had been right to let her go.

Failures. Her life was full of them. Failed relationships. Failed engagements. Failed jobs.

“Not this time,” Molly promised herself and headed toward cabin number six.

Owen had already parked in front of the cabin when she arrived. His son immediately jumped out of the back passenger seat and landed on his feet with a thud. He then bolted for the cabin’s shaded front stoop.

“Cody, get back here,” Owen hollered.

Molly suspected Cody misbehaving and Owen reprimanding him was a regular occurrence.

“I gotta go, Daddy. Bad.”

Ah. A bathroom emergency. Molly hurried, the key jangling in her hand. Sweetheart Ranch didn’t use plastic cards. Grandma Em had been firm on that issue. Keys enhanced the old-fashioned ambience.

“Hold on,” Molly said, glad to set her emotions aside. Climbing the stoop, she nudged Cody’s hand away. He’d been repeatedly twisting the uncooperative knob.

“If you wait a minute, I’ll be right there.” Owen had managed to lift the toddler from her car seat. His other daughter refused to stop fidgeting despite his requests, making freeing her difficult.

“It’s okay. No rush.” Molly opened the door. “I’ll watch him.”

Watch him like a hawk. She’d bet money Cody would find trouble if left unsupervised.

“You stay here,” Cody demanded and charged inside. “Going to the bathroom is private.”

“Of course.” Molly nonetheless kept an eye on him as he stomped through the front room and down the hall.

A moment later, she heard footsteps behind her and turned to see Owen and the girls come inside, a cold gust following them.

“Nice.” Owen paused and surveyed the room with its overstuffed sofa, oak coffee and end tables, lamps that resembled lanterns, antique oxen yoke hanging on the wall, and lacy curtains. “Very cozy.”

“There’s a kitchenette with an under-the-counter fridge, a three-burner stove, microwave and sink.” Molly pointed out the various features with pride and satisfaction. The cabins were indeed nice, and she’d contributed significantly to their design. “The sofa is a sleeper with a queen-size mattress.”

“That’s good.” Owen let go of the girls’ hands, allowing them to explore. “I brought a portable crib for Willa. I’m thinking Cody and Marisa can sleep out here while I take the bedroom.”

“I don’t wanna sleep with Cody.” Marisa made a face and glared at the offending sofa.

“But this bed’s special,” Owen said. “It pops out of the sofa like magic.”

Marisa wasn’t mollified. “I want Oreo.”

“Oreo,” Willa agreed and dropped onto her bottom in the middle of the floor.

“Their dog,” Owen told Molly. “She sleeps in the girls’ room on Marisa’s bed.”

“I’m sorry. Only service dogs are allowed at the ranch.” Molly admired his patience with these three. They were a handful.

“Wow!” Cody exploded from the bathroom. “Daddy, come look. The tub is huge.”

“Each cabin comes with a built-in two-person spa tub,” Molly explained to Owen. “And an enclosed courtyard in back for privacy.”

“I’m intrigued.” His gaze caught hers and lingered.

Molly glanced away first but not before her heart gave an unexpected leap. Really?

She checked Owen’s left hand for a wedding ring before she could stop herself. There was none, not that she cared.

“Daddy!” Cody insisted. “Come look at the bathtub.”

“I’m hungry,” Marisa complained from the kitchenette where she was opening every lower cabinet and drawer within her reach.

“I’ll leave you to get unpacked.” Molly seized the chance to escape and inched toward the door. “Let me know if there’s anything you require. Extra towels or pillows. Assistance connecting to the complimentary Wi-Fi.”

“Can we ride the horses?” Cody asked.

Owen reached out and tousled his son’s hair. “We noticed the stables.”

Molly gave an apologetic head shake, neatly slipping back into guest relations mode. “I’m afraid Moses and Amos are for carriage and hayrides only. But Powell Ranch is a half mile up the road, and they rent horses by the hour for trail rides and lessons. There are also plenty other family-friendly activities in the nearby area. They’re listed in the binder.” She pointed to the coffee table. “Hiking trails and the OdySea Aquarium. There’s even recreational bull riding at the Poco Dinero Bar and Grill.”

“I’ve heard about that,” Owen said. “Maybe I’ll take a spin.”

“You’ve rodeoed before?”

“In my previous life. Before I became a marketing rep for Waverly Equine Products.”

That was interesting. Despite his Western dress, Molly hadn’t pictured him riding bulls. Must be the pressed jeans. She’d pegged him as more of a weekend cowboy.

“Daddy was a champion,” Cody announced. “He has gold buckles and trophies.”

“I’m impressed.”

“I made a living at it.” Owen shrugged. “For a while.”

“What happened?”

“Complications,” he said. “Mostly these three. Their mom didn’t like me being on the road every week.”

“Understandable.”

“The funny thing is I wound up traveling just as much with Waverly. Which is why I quit. More time to spend with this motley crew. It’s also why I agreed to help out Uncle Homer for a month. I plan on getting sick of their company.”

“You’re not working?” Molly immediately wished she could take back the question. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me to ask. And none of my business.”

“It’s all right. I’m not embarrassed. The fact is, I need to make some changes in my life, and now I have the chance. Don’t suppose you’ve heard of any places in the area hiring a former senior marketing rep who doesn’t want to travel much?”

“Afraid not.”

“I guess the good news is I brought my laptop and you have complimentary Wi-Fi.”

Molly reached for the doorknob, more eager than ever to be on her way. “If you’ll excuse me, I have about a hundred tasks waiting for me at the house.”

“We’ll be along shortly.”

She barely heard his reply as she shut the door behind her and trotted down the steps. At the bottom, she wiped her brow.

“That was close.”

Owen was a charming man and potentially hard to resist. But going all soft inside at a man’s admiring glance had landed Molly in trouble before, causing her to fall blindly in love and miss the obvious indicators of trouble brewing.

Besides, Sweetheart Ranch and its success were her priorities. She owed her grandmother that and more for giving her a second chance. Now wasn’t the time to act on any romantic sparks. Especially with a man who had his own important priorities that included taking care of three young children and finding a new job.

* * *

MOLLY STOPPED AT the clubhouse on her return from Owen’s cabin, making sure all was in order for the open house. When her cell phone suddenly started playing Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March” on her way out the door, she jumped. Grandma Em returning her calls. Finally! With fumbling fingers, she whipped out her phone and answered.

“Grandma. Where are you?”

To her dismay, a sob caught in her throat—from relief and from sorrow at her grandmother’s abandonment. Not that her grandmother had abandoned her exactly. In the same way her father hadn’t exactly abandoned Molly when he’d died soon after her twelfth birthday. Still, she felt a keen loss whenever someone took off without warning and tended to react emotionally.

“In Flagstaff,” Grandma said. “We stopped for gas.”

“Okay.” Molly’s voice sounded small.

“I’m sorry, sweetie. Please don’t think I bailed on you.”

If she were a completely unselfish person, Molly would assure her grandmother that everything was fine, express her joy over the elopement, and wish her grandmother and Homer a safe and enjoyable trip.

But Molly was too overcome with hurt to be completely unselfish. “You left without saying goodbye.”

“It wasn’t an easy decision. Believe me.”

“Then why?”

“I knew if I told you, you’d have probably hog-tied me to the nearest chair.”

“You make me sound like a bad person.”

“No, no, sweetie. You’re a sensible person and any argument you made would have been too sensible for me to resist.” Grandma Em sighed wistfully. “I never dreamed I’d meet a man and fall in love. Not after all these years. Homer’s wonderful. Kind and generous and funny and thoughtful.”

“Why couldn’t he have waited a couple months until the ranch was up and running before insisting you run away together?” Molly closed and latched the pool gate behind her before turning in the direction of the house.

“He was more than willing to wait. I’m the one chomping at the bit.”

“Grandma!”

“I know it sounds stupid, and there’s a hundred reasons why we should have delayed. But I just didn’t want to go one more week without being Mrs. Foxworthy. I’m in love, Molly. Head over heels. Fallen off the deep end. Whatever other silly clichéd saying comes to mind.”

“This isn’t like you.”

“Actually, it is. At least, it’s like the person I used to be. Many years ago.”

“Irresponsible?”

“Impetuous and spontaneous and living for the moment.”

Molly could hear her grandmother smiling, which made staying mad impossible. “Don’t you want us with you when you get married?”

“Of course I do. Homer and I are planning on renewing our vows after we get home and throwing a huge party for family and friends. We were thinking of New Year’s Day.”

“I suppose that’ll be nice. I’ll clear the calendar.” As of yet, no weddings were scheduled.

“You’re young, Molly. I don’t expect you to understand. But when you reach my age, well, waiting for the right moment wastes valuable time. Homer and I don’t want to lose a single second of married life together.”

Had Molly ever sounded this excited and happy when she’d been engaged? Her former fiancés had both been excellent matches with good jobs, bright futures and plans to start a family one day. Molly hadn’t believed she could make a better choice for a husband. Choices, she amended.

Yet both men had dumped her before making it down the aisle, the second one a mere three days before their wedding. The excuses they’d cited weren’t dissimilar, Molly was too uptight, detested anything spur-of-the-moment and refused to admit it when she was wrong.

Coincidentally, two jobs ago, her boss had cited her refusal to admit she was wrong when he’d fired her for consistently low scores on her customer satisfaction surveys. Molly had quit her last job, sensing termination was imminent and not wanting to further tarnish her employment record.

For someone in the service industry, she wasn’t very...what were the words her last boss had used? Ah, yes, flexible and accommodating.

She’d been striving ever since to become a better version of herself. Hadn’t she accepted Owen as his uncle Homer’s replacement and seen to the comfort of him and his kids? She could have thrown a fit instead.

Here, she supposed, was another chance to prove she’d changed. “I’m happy for you, Grandma. Truly. Homer’s a nice man.”

“I was hoping you’d help me plan the party.”

“Of course I will.”

“Did Owen arrive yet?” Grandma Em asked, changing the subject.

“I just finished showing him and the kids to their cabin.”

Molly headed for the kitchen door rather than track dirt into the recently vacuumed front rooms. She noticed Bridget through the kitchen window and hesitated, not yet ready to face her sister.

“He’s very handsome, don’t you agree?”

“Is he?” Molly was purposefully vague, refusing to reveal just how handsome she found him.

“He and Homer are quite close. I really want him and his children to feel welcomed and part of the family.”

Was that a subtle chastising from Grandma Em or was she simply attempting to smooth what could be a rocky transition for everyone?

Uncertain how to respond, Molly said, “Nora’s here, too. She says she’s taking over guest relations. Are you sure that’s a good idea? She can be grumpy.” Except, apparently, when Owen sweet-talked her.

“She’ll do fine. She was once an executive assistant for the president of A-1 Home Insurance Company. Part of her job was arranging corporate events—charity fund-raisers, holiday parties, annual stockholder meetings.”

Nora? An executive assistant?

“Let her do the grunt work,” Grandma said. “You handle the rest.”

“She needs to smile more.”

Grandma Em laughed. “She’ll learn. You did.”

Molly had learned, motivated greatly by having a vested interest in the business and a potentially long-term career for herself.

“Will you send us pictures of the wedding?” she asked.

“Prepare to be inundated.”

Molly’s mood lifted. Her grandmother had found the kind of contentment that thus far had eluded Molly. The least she could do was run the ranch with her sister to the best of her ability for the next month.

“I love you, Grandma.”

“I love you, too, sweetie.”

Molly entered the kitchen and held out her phone to Bridget. “It’s Grandma. She and Homer are in Flagstaff.”

With a squeal, Bridget scurried out from behind the counter, nearly knocking over a bowl of liquid in the process as she reached for the phone. “Grandma, hi!”

Molly helped herself to a cold drink, half listening to Bridget’s side of the conversation. She was considerably more enthused for their grandmother than Molly had initially been.

“Hugs and kisses,” Bridget said when she was done, then returned Molly’s phone. “She sounds ecstatic.”

“You don’t think she and Homer are rushing things?”

“Dad asked Mom to marry him on their fifth date and look how that turned out.”

Molly’s sister made a valid point. If not for the driver running a stop sign, their father might still be alive today and their parents celebrating thirty-three years of wedded bliss.

Sadly, the driver had run the stop sign. And after sixteen years of loneliness and misery, Molly and Bridget’s mother had recently married again and moved to Casa Grande.

Doug paled in comparison to their father. While not mean or abusive—Molly and Bridget would never tolerate their mother being mistreated—he was frequently needy and narcissistic and extremely stingy with money. The sisters suspected their mother was just as lonely and miserable now as after their father died. But she refused to divorce Doug, claiming men like her late husband were few and far between.

She was right, but that didn’t deter Molly and Bridget from trying to find such a man and refusing to settle for less. It wasn’t easy, their mother had been right about that. Molly need only examine her own track record.

Nora abruptly called from the foyer. “Florist is here!”

“Go.” Bridget waved Molly away. “I need to start decorating the wedding cake.”

The delivery man was setting the first arrangement on the table in the parlor when Molly got there. One look and she stopped in her tracks.

“Those aren’t the right color roses.”

He checked his delivery schedule, squinting his eyes at the electronic device in his hand. “Ten dozen arrangements in glass vases.”

Molly approached the table and fingered one of the blooms. “We requested pale peach. These are orange.”

“Let me call the office.” He pulled out his phone. “I’m at Sweetheart Ranch. The customer says the roses are the wrong color.” After a pause, he passed the phone to Molly, who put it to her ear. “It’s the manager,” he said.

“Hi. Molly O’Malley here. The roses are supposed to be peach.”

“Hold on a second while I pull up the record.”

Molly silently fumed. She knew precisely what the bride had requested. She’d reviewed the order herself.

“According to my records, I spoke to Emily O’Malley on Thursday morning at ten twenty.” The sound of flipping papers could be heard in the background. “I told her we didn’t have the exact shade of peach you ordered, and she said the darker color would be fine.”

“I see.” Molly searched her memory. She’d been at the print shop on Thursday morning picking up their new brochures.

“Is Emily there?”

“No. She’s out of town.”

Grandma Em had probably forgotten to mention the call or note the change in the bride’s file. Too many distractions, like her impending elopement and road trip. Molly couldn’t hold the florist responsible.

“What would you like us to do?” the woman asked, a tinge of impatience in her voice. “We can substitute white or yellow roses.”

Molly debated her choices while two pairs of eyes watched her, Nora’s and the delivery man’s. The bride had been specific about her wedding colors; white and yellow weren’t included. Then again, neither was orange. Come to think of it, had the bride even been informed about the unavailability of peach roses? Hopefully, yes, but Molly didn’t want to assume. And if Grandma hadn’t informed the bride, news of the orange roses could upset the poor woman who was surely already frazzled.

Molly’s first problem as fill-in wedding coordinator, and she was stumped.

“We could call your grandmother,” Nora suggested.

Not happening, Molly decided. She’d deal with this on her own. “It’s fine,” she told the shop owner. “We’ll take the roses.”

Once all ten arrangements were brought in, Molly and Nora went about placing them in the chapel. After the service was concluded and photos taken, the roses would then be moved to the parlor for the reception.

“What do you think of Owen?” Nora asked.

Why was everyone eager to know Molly’s opinion of him? “He seems nice enough. The better question is how good is he at marrying people?”

“Gotta admire a man who’d quit his job to spend more time with his kids.”

Molly had been thinking he wouldn’t be able to support his kids without a job or make the monthly payments on that slick new truck of his.

“I guess, but won’t he need a job soon? Unless he’s independently wealthy.”

“Well, according to Homer, Owen took stock options at Waverly. They bought him out when he quit, and he’s got enough to carry him for a while. Which is good because finding a job at his level and in the Phoenix area will be a challenge.”

Nora filled a bowl with small packets of birdseed to toss at the bride and groom while Molly arranged candles on the altar.

Unable to resist, she said, “He seems kind of young to be the father of three kids.”

“He and his wife married in their early twenties and had Cody within the first year. His wife was the one who insisted he quit rodeoing and stay home. Which was a shame, Owen loved it. He took the job at Waverly on the promise he wouldn’t travel so much. That quickly changed, however, and, as you can guess, his wife wasn’t happy. ’Course, she did like the nice things his salary bought them.”

“Can you really blame her? Not about the money but him traveling extensively. They had three children.”

Finishing in the chapel, Molly and Nora returned to the parlor where everything sat in readiness for the open house. Molly knew she should get changed soon. Instead, she listened to Nora go on about Owen.

“It was an excuse.” The older woman made a sound of disgust. “The marriage had run its course. But rather than just admit they were better off apart than together like two sensible adults, she blamed him and his job and made him suffer.”

“Did Grandma tell you all this?”

“She figured you’d be interested in him and wanted me to tell you.”

“Interested in him?” Molly feigned shock as if nothing could be further from the truth. “Whatever gave her that idea?”

The next second, Owen and his three kids strolled into the parlor. Molly went still, wishing she could disappear. How much of her and Nora’s conversation had he heard?

The last part of it, certainly, judging by the amused expression he wore.

CHAPTER THREE

“PLEASE, DADDY, can we stay with you?”

“Sorry, son.” Owen gave Cody’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. He and his kids stood in the parlor, waiting for Nora. “I’ve got to work.”

Not work exactly. It was, however, the simplest explanation and one his kids were used to hearing.

His attendance at the open house wasn’t mandatory. The brochures on display in the foyer mentioned an on-staff minister as one of the many services offered at Sweetheart Ranch. No need for the temporary wedding officiator to make a personal appearance.

But after spending half the morning helping Molly, her sister and Nora finish readying the downstairs public rooms, he felt invested in the open house and wanted to see the outcome for himself.

With both of them wanting to attend, he and Nora had struck a deal. She’d watch the kids for the first half of the open house, and then Owen would relieve her so that she could enjoy the second half. She’d insisted she didn’t mind, and Owen had begun to suspect the elderly woman had a real soft spot where kids were concerned.

“I’ll be good,” Cody whined, hanging on Owen’s arm.

He’d heard that promise before. Most recently this morning on the drive to Sweetheart Ranch from their mother’s house. Cody had started a fight with Marisa two miles into the trip. Owen couldn’t risk another incident ensuing during the open house. Molly and her sister were stressed enough as it was.

At least the girls were behaving, Owen thought. They’d taken a shine to Nora rather quickly. Possibly because they were young, and she reminded them a little of their mom’s neighbor who occasionally watched the kids.

No fooling Cody, though. He still suspected Nora might be a witch and shied away from her.

“We talked earlier,” Owen reminded Cody, determined to remain patient. His children had been through a lot for one day. They’d been separated from their mom and beloved dog, were living in a new place, sleeping on an unfamiliar bed, and had been left in the care of a father they’d seen only four times in the last three months.

Everything would be different soon, and Owen had his ex-wife, Jeanne, to thank for that. She’d been resistant at first, and he’d hesitated involving his lawyer to enforce their shared custody agreement. Taking a different approach, he’d convinced her the arrangement benefited them both. Owen got the chance to right past wrongs while Jeanne and her new boyfriend were able to have some alone time and go off on a short trip. Take-home lessons from Cody’s kindergarten teacher for the missed week of school had sealed the deal.

Now Owen needed to make the most of the opportunity and not screw up.

“When I’m working,” he said, “Miss Nora will watch you.”

“I wanna go to the party.” Cody screwed his face into a scowl.

Owen regretted describing the open house as a party. Cody was no doubt thinking games and prizes and cake and ice cream.

“The open house is for grown-ups.”

“She’s not a grown-up.” Cody pointed to Nora’s granddaughter Tracee, who’d been hired to serve refreshments and clean up afterward.

“She’s fifteen,” Owen said. “Plus, she’s working. That’s different.”

“Not fair.” Cody’s voice had gained considerable volume.

Nora came to the rescue. “How about you, me and your sisters go to the kitchen? I happen to know where there’s a secret stash of fresh-baked cookies. If your dad says it’s okay, you can have one.”

Owen felt compelled to warn Nora about his kids on a sugar high. “You might want to take them to the cabin afterward. Let them burn off their excess energy.”

“I was thinking along the lines of the clubhouse first and then an afternoon nap.” She rested a hand on Willa’s downy curls. “This one for sure is going to need some downtime.”

“I’m too old for naps,” Cody insisted.

Owen checked the arched entranceway leading to the foyer. No guests had arrived yet, which was a relief. His son was on the brink of throwing a fit.

“You don’t have to lie down,” he told Cody. “But you do need to behave for Miss Nora and can’t make noise while your sisters sleep.” He turned to Nora. “Their mom packed some games and movies and his truck collection.”

“Come on.” She captured the girls’ hands. “First cookies and perhaps a glass of milk to wash them down. After that, if you’re good, we’ll play a game of Ping-Pong or how about croquet?”

“What’s that?” Cody asked.

“You hit a ball with a mallet through little hoops.”

The idea of hitting balls clearly intrigued Cody, though he stubbornly held his ground.

“I’ll let you watch a movie while your sisters nap.”

“Which movie?” Won over at last, Cody reluctantly followed Nora and his sisters toward the kitchen.

“What one’s your favorite?”

“My Little Pony,” Marisa squealed with glee and skipped ahead.

“No.” Cody slapped his forehead in very adult frustration. “Not that one again.”

The remainder of their conversation was cut off when they disappeared around the corner. Owen was thinking he could learn a lot from Nora when Molly suddenly entered the room. Good thing he was alone. That way, no one witnessed his jaw going slack at the sight of her.

She looked amazing. Not that she hadn’t been pretty in her jeans and T-shirt. But the pale knit dress she wore and the way her soft, wavy hair framed her face elevated her appeal to a whole new level. She was, quite simply, lovely, and Owen felt his heartstrings stir.

Granted, Molly had a few funny idiosyncrasies. Like the way she flitted around the room, obsessing over the placement of coasters or holding her splayed fingers above her head to test the airflow from the AC ducts. Funny, but also amusing and sort of endearing. He could only assume those former husbands of hers were idiots for letting her go.

“Easy does it,” he muttered under his breath. He was here to restore his faltering relationship with his children. Not find his next romantic interest.

Must be Sweetheart Ranch. There was something about a place where love abounded. Hard to steel oneself against the effects.

“Thanks for your help earlier.”

Owen gave a start. Where had Molly come from? Last he’d seen, she’d been straightening pictures that didn’t need straightening and refanning the precisely fanned napkins.

“My pleasure,” he said, trying not to stare.

“And thanks for coming this afternoon. People will enjoy meeting you.”

“Do I look minister-y enough? I wasn’t sure what to wear. Marisa picked this.” He tugged on the hem of his leather vest, a recent gift from his mother. The brand for his brothers’ ranch was burned on the front. “Not sure I should rely on the opinion of a three-year-old.”

“Three-and-a-half,” Molly corrected him. “She was quite adamant about that when we were wiping down the folding chairs.”

“Six months is important when you’re her age.”

“She’s cute. All your kids are.”

“Thanks, but I can’t take the credit. Any good genes they got came from their mother.”

Molly studied him at length, long enough for him to feel the effects. “I think they take after you.”

“Is that a compliment?”

She didn’t answer, fussing with an imaginary wrinkle on her dress.

Owen suppressed a chuckle. She liked him. Liked his looks, anyway.

“Having planned two of your own weddings must come in handy for being in a wedding coordinator.” He admitted to himself that he was fishing for information.

Molly took the bait. “I’ve never been married.”

“No?”

“I was engaged twice and, as Nora mentioned, I did the planning.”

But had broken off the engagements, evidently. “What happened, can I ask?”

She drew in a breath. “No offense, Owen, but I have no desire to share details with you about our pasts.”

“No offense taken.” He agreed the timing was bad and shifted gears. “This house is incredible.”

Molly visibly relaxed. “It was built in the late 1800s by my great-great-grandparents. They came to Arizona from back east and were one of the original families to settle in the Mustang Valley.”

“You have deep roots here.”

“Very deep. Growing up, Bridget and I spent every summer with our grandparents. They owned the local inn and put us to work as soon as we were big enough to push a laundry cart and kept us working part-time all through high school and college.”

“Nothing like learning the business from a young age.” Owen could boast a similar experience. He’d come from a rodeo family going back three generations. “Where’d you work before coming here?”

“For a couple different big hotel chains.”

“Which ones? I’ve stayed in a lot of hotels.”

“I like working for a family business much better. It’s hard but the rewards are worth it.”

She’d purposefully avoided answering his question. Owen was curious why but didn’t press her.

“There’s a lot to be said for being your own boss. Can’t say the idea hasn’t occurred to me.” He’d spent a few interesting hours researching.

“What kind of business appeals to you?” Molly asked.

“Retail. Sales. Something along those lines.”

“Because that’s where your talent lies.”

He winked. “One of them.”

She glanced away, sending a very clear message. She didn’t welcome his flirting.

Owen curbed his impulses. Being friendly was part of what had made him a top-earning salesman, but he’d gone one step too far with Molly.

“I tend to talk a lot,” he confessed. “But I’m also a good listener. Two traits that might come in handy while covering for Uncle Homer.”

“People do love to talk about their weddings.”

The sound of the front door opening alerted them to the arrival of guests. Molly went instantly into hostess mode, rushing to the foyer to greet them and take their coats. Escorting them to the parlor, she pointed out the refreshments and introduced them to Owen, using his uncle as an ice breaker.

Here, he was in his element and easily launched into polite conversation. An hour into the open house, he was recruited to talk to the TV reporter. Having done interviews during his rodeo days, he was comfortable in front of a camera as well. During all the mingling and schmoozing, he kept an eye on Molly, watching her as she gracefully moved from person to person. No one went without beverages or hors d’oeuvres if she could help it. Judging by the many compliments he overheard, the open house was a huge success.

He was just thinking it was time to go to the cabin and swap babysitting duties with Nora when Molly appeared beside him.

“Have you practiced for tonight’s wedding?” she asked.

“Not really.”

“Do you think you should?”

“Do you?” In truth, he’d planned on winging it. That had worked just fine when his buddy got hitched.

“I watched the video earlier of the wedding you officiated.”

“How? Where?”

“I Googled you. Your friends have a wedding website. The video’s posted there.”

“That’s right.” He’d forgotten.

“You were a bit...unrehearsed.”

“We improvised.” And they’d all enjoyed a good laugh afterward at those unrehearsed moments.

“I don’t recommend improvising again. Not to nitpick, but this is our very first wedding. We have a lot riding on it.”

“Uncle Homer left me copies of a few of his more popular ceremonies.”

“Notes are okay. Just try not to appear like you’re reading from them. Glance up at the couple and out at the guests. Make eye contact. Humor is great, too. A touch will help put the couple at ease. But don’t go overboard, or you’ll spoil the ceremony. Be earnest and sincere and, most of all, likable. This is a once in a lifetime experience for the bride, the groom and their families. Our job is to make it special and memorable and perfect.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Owen’s stomach started to tighten. He hadn’t been nervous until now.

“Don’t forget to smile, though not too much, at the appropriate intervals. And stand up straight. You’ll be filmed and photographed the entire time.”

Owen squared his shoulders and drew in a deep breath. Had he slouched before?

“Remember to speak clearly and project.”

“Got it.”

He tugged on his shirt collar. When he’d officiated at his buddy’s wedding, most of the guests had been his friends, too. People he’d known for years if not his whole life. The wedding, a casual affair, had taken place at a nearby park and the reception had been held in the couple’s backyard.

No one had complained about Owen’s posture or warned him not to crack too many jokes. Of course, they hadn’t paid a fee for his services. His job at Sweetheart Ranch included compensation in the form of room and board and childcare, and he’d do well to take it seriously. Molly was giving him sound advice.

“Maybe we should try a dry run,” he said. “Will we have time before the ceremony?”

“I won’t.” She debated a moment. “There’s a full-length mirror in the groom’s dressing room off the chapel. You might practice reciting your lines in front of that.”

“Good idea.”

“Be done by four thirty sharp. That’s when the wedding party’s arriving. Oh, and stick close after the ceremony to meet guests. Also plan on attending the reception if the couple invites you. You don’t have to stay past the toast.”

Any more requirements and he’d need a list to keep track. “Where will you be?”

“Hovering in the background in case there’s a problem and praying everything goes well.”

The load on her shoulders was growing heavier. He could say the same for himself.

Had he made a mistake by agreeing to substitute for Uncle Homer? In any case, it was too late now to back out.

* * *

“HELLO! PLEASE COME IN.” Molly welcomed the bride and her entourage, ushering them through the foyer. “We’re so happy to have you.”

“We need to hurry,” the bride exclaimed, her face flushed with excitement. “My fiancé’s ten minutes behind us. I don’t want him to see me before the ceremony.”

“Follow me.” Molly escorted them down the hall.

The bride, her hair arranged in an upsweep, juggled several bags and cases, including one for cosmetics and one for shoes. A middle-aged woman wearing a tasteful mother-of-the-bride dress carried a voluminous garment bag raised high so as not to drag on the floor. The maid of honor also carried a garment bag, hers considerably less voluminous but guarded with equal care.

As the group passed by the chapel on their way to the bride’s dressing room, Molly crossed her fingers, willing the bride not to notice the orange roses.

“Mom, look at the flowers!”

Uh-oh.

“They’re gorgeous,” her mother gushed and everyone came to a standstill. “Absolutely stunning.”

They were? More oohing and aahing followed, and Molly breathed a little easier.

“Just like you,” the mother said, her eyes misting as she reached out a hand to pinch her daughter’s chin. Molly doubted these were the first tears shed today, nor would they be the last.

At the dressing room door, she stopped and handed the bride a small black pager. “If you need me, just press the green button.” A matching device was clipped to her pocket.

“We hate to bother you right from the start...” The maid of honor tilted her head appealingly. “Do you have any food we can snack on? We’re not particular.”

“I haven’t eaten all day,” the bride admitted. “I’ve been too nervous.”

Her mother laid a hand on her shoulder. “We can’t have her passing out from hunger.”

“No problem.” Molly smiled graciously. “I’ll bring something right away.”

“Low-cal, please.” The bride patted her waist. “I can’t afford to gain a single ounce if I hope to fit into my dress.”

Molly ducked out of the room.

There were plenty of leftovers from the open house. She’d prepare a selection of fresh fruit and yogurt dip and finger sandwiches. That should satisfy the bride.

Molly hurried through the parlor, now empty except for Nora’s granddaughter Tracee who was pushing a vacuum. Every last trace of the open house had been removed and the buffet freshly set for the reception.

Right now, Sweetheart Ranch didn’t offer catering services beyond a cake, nonalcoholic punch and a continental breakfast. If couples chose, they could bring their own champagne and hors d’oeuvres. One day, if the ranch did well and turned a decent profit, they hoped to offer light catering. Bridget was already planning ahead.

One step at a time, Molly told herself. For now, guests would come to the main house between 7:00 a.m. and 11:00 a.m. for some of Bridget’s incredible homemade croissants, breads, pastries and jams. Yet another ranch specialty was a honeymoon breakfast prepared to order for the couple the morning after their wedding and delivered to their cabin as late as noon. Until then, they wouldn’t be disturbed.

“Hey, the bride’s here,” Molly announced upon entering the kitchen. “She and the others are in the dressing room. The groom’s on his way.”

“Our first wedding. Now we’re really and truly open for business.” Bridget fussed over the cake, adding a tiny flower here and smoothing a patch of icing there.

Molly removed a clean platter from the rack and began loading it with leftovers.

“Hungry?” Nora asked.

Temporarily relieved of her babysitting duties, the older woman had returned to the house for a short break and a quick bite. She’d be back on the clock, so to speak, during the wedding when she’d resume care of Owen’s children.

“This is for the bride and her entourage,” Molly explained. “They’re hungry and requested a snack.”

“You must be happy. The open house was a huge success.”

“Are you kidding? I’m thrilled. Not a single hitch.” Molly couldn’t believe their good fortune.

“You two worked your tails off.” Nora tore off a piece of her quesadilla. “Have you talked to your grandmother yet? I bet she’s bursting with pride.”

“For two minutes. I promised to call her later when we weren’t so busy.”

More people had attended the open house than expected. Along with potential clients researching wedding venues, several locals had shown up to lend their support. There had also been a large number of curious folks who’d heard or read about the ranch and wanted to see for themselves.

During a free moment, Molly had sought out their neighbor, the owner of Powell Ranch, and proposed an idea of cross-promoting. He’d seemed interested and had told her to call him later in the week. The owner of the Poco Dinero Bar and Grill had heard them chatting and asked Molly to include her as well.

The best part had been the many compliments and well wishes. By the time the crowd had started thinning at around three thirty, Molly was walking on air. With everyone gone, however, exhaustion had set in. She longed to rest her aching feet but at the pace she was going, that wasn’t likely.

She loaded strawberries, blackberries, apple slices and finger sandwiches on the platter while Nora prattled on about the open house. At the mention of Owen’s name, Molly paused.

“He quite enjoyed himself,” Nora said.

“He’s prejudiced.”

“Why do you say that?”

“The TV reporter made a big fuss over him. Did a whole seven-minute segment with him alone.” Molly would have quite enjoyed herself, too.

“Can you blame her?”

“He’s just the minister. A temporary, online minister at that. Bridget and I are the owners, and we only got three-minute interviews.”

“You timed the reporter?” Bridget asked in amazement.

“I happen to glance at the mantel clock.” Molly waved her sister away. “The point is we’re Sweetheart Ranch. You and I. Owen is hired help.”

“Maybe you got three minutes. My interview was longer than that.” Bridget disappeared inside the walk-in pantry.

Okay, now Molly was good and miffed. Apparently, she was the least interesting person on staff at the ranch.

“Owen’s the kind of man who draws attention,” Nora observed. “He has that quality about him.”

“He is scrumptious,” Bridget remarked, returning from the cooler. “With a great smile.”

“Don’t forget well built.” Nora fanned herself. “My, my.”

Molly huffed. “You two are being ridiculous.”

“Am I wrong?” Nora appealed to Bridget.

“Not at all. If I was a female reporter, I’d spend more time interviewing Owen than anyone else.”

“The purpose of the TV interviews is to promote Sweetheart Ranch,” Molly insisted. “Not some scrumptious cowboy.”

“Ha! Then you agree with us.”

“I didn’t say that.” Except, she had.

Finished with her meal, Nora wiped her hands on a napkin. “I bet you two get all kinds of inquiries after the segment airs tonight. I set my DVR to record the show.”

“We should do that, too!” Bridget turned to Molly and waited, hands on her hips.

“What? You expect me to set the DVR?”

“Ah, yeah.”

“I have to take this food to the bride.”

“And I have to clean the kitchen.”

“Fine,” Molly grumbled and picked up the platter. “I’ll do it.”

Mindful not to drop any food in her haste, she stopped in the den and programmed the DVR—but only because her grandmother would enjoy watching the news segment when she returned from her trip.

Molly was in the middle of delivering the platter when loud male voices emanating from the foyer alerted her to the arrival of the groom and his party.

“Hurry, hurry!” The bride shooed her away.

Molly greeted the men and escorted them to the second dressing room, this one off the chapel. The groom’s parents had arrived with him. The mother quickly busied herself setting out the guest book and feather pen on the table next to the bowl of birdseed packets and placing folded programs on the pews. The groom’s sisters had brought champagne, and Molly directed them to the parlor where silver buckets filled with ice waited.

After cake and a toast, the wedding party and guests were traveling via chartered bus to a posh restaurant in north Scottsdale for a celebration dinner. They’d no doubt return late. Molly didn’t expect to see the bride and groom again until tomorrow morning. Or even later for their carriage ride around town.

Molly was debating calling Owen when he finally strolled into the chapel. He’d swapped his vest for the Western cut sports jacket he’d worn earlier, shaved off his stubble and freshly combed his dark hair. Molly had to admit, he looked the part. The groom’s sisters’ giddy reaction when they saw him confirmed it.

“You ready?” she asked.

“I think so.” He held up a sheet of paper. “I called Uncle Homer, and he gave me a few more tips.”

“Good.” She surveyed the chapel. Most of the guests had arrived and were seated. “We start in seven minutes.”

“That soon?” He swallowed.

“Relax. You’ll be fine. Don’t forget to introduce yourself to the groom before heading to the altar.” The next second, Molly’s pager vibrated. “I have to go. Good luck.” For one ridiculous second, she considered giving Owen a reassuring hug.

Coming to her senses, she sped off. The bride and whatever need had arisen topped Molly’s list.

She didn’t see Owen again until it was time for the wedding to start. Having exited the bride’s dressing room only moments before the recorded wedding march began to play, she retreated to the back of the chapel near the corner.

She wasn’t reassured to see Owen shifting anxiously from one foot to the other and tugging at his shirt collar. She tried to discreetly signal him without success.

Suddenly, music began playing, and the bride materialized at the entrance to a chorus of soft gasps. From then on, everyone’s attention was focused on her and the besotted groom. When the music stopped and they stood side by side in front of Owen, he cleared his throat. Then, he cleared it again. When he finally spoke, his voice was dry and frog-like.

“Wa...welcome, family, friends and, um, loved ones.”

Oh, no, Molly thought and clenched her fingers. Not the most impressive start.

“We’re here this evening to celebrate a wonderful occasion. No, not the opening of Sweetheart Ranch. Though, that was some humdinger of an open house earlier. Sorry you missed it.”

Molly cringed when no one laughed.

“Benjamin Carr and Jolyn Montgomery have invited you to witness their public commitment and declaration of love to each other.” Owen stared hard at the paper he held. “Gatherings such as these are important as they mark the special milestones in our lives.”

Terrific. The ceremony was sounding more like a legal proceeding than a wedding.

“Make eye contact,” she murmured under her breath. “Smile.”

He did neither, and listening to him was a painful experience.

“Ben and Jolyn, please join hands and look into each other’s eyes.” He paused. “These are the hands of your best friend. They are holding yours on your wedding day as you promise to love each other today, tomorrow and forever.”

Okay, this wasn’t so bad. He was reciting the “Blessing of the Hands” per the bride and groom’s request. Thank goodness he was getting this part right.

Owen managed to complete the entire blessing, even smiling when he finished with, “May these hands continue to build a loving relationship that lasts a lifetime.”

Molly expelled a sigh of relief. It was short-lived. Owen messed up twice during the exchange of vows and once when the unity candles were lit.

At last, he announced, “You may kiss the bride,” and proclaimed the couple as Mr. and Mrs. Carr.

Molly waited until all the guests had expressed their best wishes to the glowing couple before approaching them. She was prepared to apologize for Owen’s lack of polish and to explain the reason for it. Except they didn’t give her a chance.

The bride pulled Molly into a fierce embrace, nearly drowning her in satin and tulle and lace. “Thank you so much. This is the best day of my life. The ceremony was wonderful. Everything I hoped for.”

It was? “I’m glad,” she replied automatically.

The bride was whisked away by her maid of honor before Molly could say more.

She blinked in amazement. Had that really just happened?

Knowing she should make her way to the parlor and check on progress for the reception, she cast a quick glance in Owen’s direction. He flashed her a grin and lifted a shoulder as if to say, “We’re home free.”

Not exactly. He might be a diamond, but he was definitely still in the rough. First thing tomorrow, the two of them were practicing. Sweetheart Ranch’s next guests were arriving at noon, and their wedding was scheduled for one o’clock. That left Molly and Owen very little time.

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