“Tall? Silver hair? Attitude?”

Jake grinned. “Yes.”

“Watch out,” Jerry warned. “That’s Aurora Jones. She can emasculate you with one look. The woman makes my life miserable.”

“You’re, uh, involved?”

“God, no! There isn’t a man in town who would take her on.” He looked around the room, half expecting Aurora would pop out from behind a flower-covered post and badger him about her building permit again. “We have a professional relationship.”

“I thought she was nice,” his daughter said, glaring at him as if he’d just said Cinderella was a bitch.

“I suppose she can be,” he offered. “When she wants to.”

Les’s grandfather leaned forward. “Did you see the grizzly bear inside the Dahl? Owen MacGregor’s grandfather shot that bear and had it mounted for the Dahl. There are some people around here who think a grizzly would be easier to get along with than Aurora Jones.”

Dear Reader,

Last summer I went to Willing. Really, I did. Although the town of Willing is a fictional place, it’s based on many small Montana towns I’ve visited over the years of road trips between north Idaho and New England. But in planning the Willing to Wed series, I needed a specific location for “my” town. Out came a map of Montana and there, in the center of Montana, was Winifred. I’d never been there, but I knew it was going to be perfect.

So in June my husband and I were as excited to drive to Winifred as we’d been to fly to London years ago. Our visit coincided with the onset of the town’s 100th anniversary. Over a thousand people (in a town of 200) were expected to arrive for a weekend reunion and celebration.

Our impromptu stop in the only bar resulted in a warm welcome, town stories, introductions to one and all and an open invitation to return. Frank and John Carr could not have been more hospitable. I am now the proud owner of a Winifred T-shirt and I wear it proudly. Winifred, like Willing, had also faced its demise. But a former resident became the town’s benefactor and invested in businesses, the school and projects that would attract new residents. Winifred is a special place. Ask anyone who lives there!

Physically the town was much different from my invented Willing. But the people were just as special and kind and welcoming as those in Meg’s café. I can’t wait to go back.

I hope you’ve enjoyed the Willing to Wed miniseries. I’d love to hear from you!

Kristine

KristineRolofson@hotmail.com www.KristineRolofson.com

The Husband Show

Kristine Rolofson

~Willing to Wed~

www.millsandboon.co.uk

KRISTINE ROLOFSON USA TODAY bestselling author Kristine Rolofson has written more than forty books for Mills & Boon. She and her husband of many years call Rhode Island, Idaho and Texas home depending upon the time of year. When not writing, Kristine quilts, bakes peach pies, plays the fiddle and sings in a country blues band. She collects vintage cowboy boots and will not tell you how many are in her closet.

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With thanks and love to Ellie, Connie, Ann and Neil, of the Hope Mountain Blues band.

Contents

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

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

AURORA VANDERGREN JONESTON Linden-March, otherwise known as Aurora Jones, picked up her buttercup-yellow Western boots—special ordered from a boot maker in Austin and worth every dollar—and carefully placed them inside an oversize shopping bag, along with her purse and the small box that contained a wedding gift. She’d wear her water-resistant, mud-proof UGGs until she arrived at the ranch, and then the yellow clipped-toe, stacked-heel beauties would make their debut in the recently cleaned and decorated barn.

She was late. She hated being late. Especially today, when everyone—everyone—was gathering at the famous Triple M for the wedding of the year.

The wedding of the decade, actually.

Who knew when the last wedding had taken place in Willing, Montana, home to too many bachelors and too few eligible women?

Before my time, Aurora decided, grabbing her car keys off the polished wooden counter of her bar. Way before my time.

Willing was not known for weddings, but if the mayor had his way, that was going to change. Aurora and her bar, the historic Dahl, would be thriving in the center of the Romance Capital of Montana before summer began. And Aurora was going to be ready for the influx of tourists.

She shrugged on an ivory down vest and had one freshly manicured hand on the door, ready to push it open and step out onto the sidewalk, when the door was pulled open from the outside. Aurora caught herself from falling forward into the weak Montana sunshine.

“Excuse me,” came a deep male voice.

“We’re closed,” she said, looking past a denim-covered chest as a truck honked on the street. She waved absently, assuming it was the annoying mayor honking his perpetual enthusiasm toward one and all. She’d deal with him unofficially this afternoon and officially tomorrow morning. She could hardly wait.

“But—”

“Closed,” she repeated, her keys in her hand. “For the holiday.”

“What holiday?”

That’s when Aurora looked at him. Really looked at him. He was tall, late thirties, with dark brown hair that appeared a little too long and a face that should advertise male grooming products in upscale magazines. Hazel eyes, sexy stubble and a casual how-can-you-resist-me smile completed the picture. He was taller than Aurora, who was easily five foot ten, but by just a few inches. A child stood next to him, a young girl with white-gold hair who was bundled into a blue hoodie and jeans. The child stomped her sneakered feet as if she was freezing to death.

“A wedding, but I’m running late and don’t have time to—”

“A holiday for a wedding?” He seemed baffled, but his eyes twinkled as if he knew he was being charming. “Must be some wedding if the whole town is celebrating. Or are weddings that rare around here?”

“As rare as my being on time,” she grumbled, wondering how to get past him. She started forward, assuming he’d move back. Which he did, reluctantly. “It’s the first unofficial Willing to Wed wedding,” she said, knowing how ridiculous she sounded. “It’s not one of the official ones.”

“The what?”

“Jake,” the child begged. “Please?”

“Look,” the man said to Aurora. “I have an emergency—”

“It’s not an emergency,” the girl said, hopping up and down. “I just need to use the loo. This is so embarrassing.”

“Could my daughter—” He gestured toward the child and smiled again, but this time Aurora saw that the smile didn’t quite touch his eyes. He was in a bind and Aurora guessed it was an unfamiliar one. And the girl called her father by his first name?

Aurora frowned as she studied the man. She ignored the sexy stubble, the square jaw and the wrinkled denim shirt. Who the heck was he and why was he here in town, today of all days, when the whole place was practically deserted? She wondered if she should be afraid.

“If this is some kind of trick and you’re actually intending to rob me, you should know that the cash went to the bank last night.” She gave him a look guaranteed to intimidate. She’d practiced that look in front of the mirror for years and was very proud of it.

“Jake” held his hands up, palms out. “No weapons, see? I’ll wait outside,” he said. “If you have a sawed-off shotgun behind the bar, feel free to wave it around. I promise to be terrified.”

“Well—” Aurora stepped back into the bar and flicked on the light switch. She felt sorry for the child, who, unless she was an excellent actress, certainly seemed distressed. But if this was a robbery attempt, the man was in for a fight. She had a can of Mace attached to her car keys and the sheriff’s number on speed dial. Just to be on the safe side, she pulled her cell phone out of her purse and made sure it was on.

“Go to the end of the room, down the hall—over there to the left—and two doors down on the right.”

“Thank you.” The child scurried toward the back.

“I appreciate this,” the man called through the open door from outside. “There was a café on the main road, but it was closed. So was the gas station.”

“I told you,” she said, moving closer to the doorway. “It’s a town holiday. And it’s Sunday. Things are very quiet around here on Sundays.”

“Right. The wedding.”

She saw him take in her dress with its floaty skirt and violet flowers. The look was ruined with the down vest and thick suede boots, but a woman living in Montana needed to be practical.

“And you’re late.”

“Yes.”

“How late? Will you miss it?”

She looked at the clock hanging over the center of the bar above the mirror. “No. Not if I drive fast. And they’ll never start on time.”

“I suppose you know everyone in town.”

“Pretty much.”

“What about Sam Hove? He moved here a few months ago.”

“Why?”

“Uh, I think he was writing a book. I’m not really sure.”

“No, I meant why are you looking for him?” She liked Sam. Everyone did. He and Lucia were together now, planning to get married sometime this summer. The former adventurer and documentary filmmaker had fallen in love with the nicest woman Aurora knew, and no one deserved happiness more than the widow and her three little boys.

“I’m done,” the girl called, hurrying back to the door. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Aurora couldn’t help smiling. The child was very serious and composed. With her round cheeks and light coloring, she looked nothing like her father. Aurora couldn’t put her finger on it, but she knew something wasn’t quite right. The two didn’t seem to mesh like a father and daughter. The child wore expensive clothing, but the father certainly didn’t. She stopped the girl before she reached the door and leaned down.

“Are you safe?” she whispered.

“Safe?” The girl’s blue eyes widened.

“Yes,” Aurora said, feeling foolish but unwilling to let the girl leave with someone who didn’t seem to be her father. It was none of her business, of course, but still.... “You know, do you need help?”

“You mean, am I being abducted? Really?”

“Call me crazy,” Aurora replied. “But I have to make sure you’re not in some kind of trouble. I can call the sheriff and keep you safe.”

“It’s fine.” She rolled her eyes. “Jake’s my father but I just met him last week. He’s okay.”

“Oh.”

The girl surprised her with a quick hug. “Thank you. It was really nice of you to be so considerate.”

“You’re welcome.” Aurora grabbed her shopping bag and followed the girl outside, but she wavered between feeling foolish and feeling protective. She just met her father last week?

“Yes,” the man—Jake—said, obviously hearing his new daughter’s words. “Thank you for your help.”

Aurora pulled the door shut and locked the dead bolt. “Well. Have a good day.”

He hesitated. “So, everyone in town is at this wedding?”

She took a deep breath of spring air. It was warmer than she’d thought it would be. And the sun was out, thank goodness. “I would think so.”

“Including Sam?”

“What do you want with Sam?”

“He’s my brother. I’m Jake. Jake Hove.” He looked at her as if he thought she would recognize the name.

“I didn’t know Sam had a brother.”

Something flashed in his eyes. “We’re not close. But we’re working on it.”

Aurora wanted to go to the ranch. She wanted to get into her great big SUV and head out to the Triple M, where she would help celebrate. She did not want to stand out in the wind and discuss bizarre family issues with a total stranger.

“Well,” she said, moving away. “Good for you.”

“Where is this wedding?”

She stopped, turned around. “That’s private information.”

“Not exactly.” He pointed to a poster in her front window. Sure enough, he’d noticed the “Meg and Owen” wedding announcement, Meg’s solution to inviting the town without accidentally leaving anyone out. “I gather this is the special event. Where is the Triple M?”

“Ninety miles from here.”

“I guess that’s why my brother isn’t home. He’s gone to an unofficial Willing to Wed wedding.”

“Yes.” Aurora ignored the charming smile he gifted her with. “Does he know you’re in town?”

“When you see him, tell him I’m here, would you?”

“Sure.” But she didn’t know whether to believe he was related to Sam. This man was too handsome, too sure of himself, too accustomed to having his way. Not at all like Sam Hove, who tended to slip quietly into crowds and not attract attention. Both men were dark-haired and tall. And there could be a resemblance around the nose and mouth. Maybe. She didn’t want to stare.

And she was late, she thought, hurrying to her car. Late, when she should have been early, except that Bill sent an email with the updated designs attached and she’d had to send changes back to him, because it all had to be perfect for tomorrow’s meeting.

“Thanks again for your help,” he called after her.

She opened the driver’s door, tossed her bag inside and scooted behind the wheel. The wedding and barn-dance reception was the social event of the season, and she didn’t intend to miss a minute. She’d ordered very good champagne, she’d helped decorate the barn yesterday and today she was going to party.

After all, she hadn’t been to a wedding since her own. But she wasn’t going to think about that. She was going to think happy thoughts.

She’d chosen a dress covered with violets for the occasion because the bride had gently hinted that she hoped her two friends would wear either violet or yellow, if that wasn’t too much trouble. Meg was the least fussy bride that ever walked down the aisle. After sixteen years apart from her first love, the rancher Owen MacGregor, Meg had found true love once again with Owen when, last October, he’d finally returned to the town his ancestors founded. It hadn’t taken him long to decide to stay.

Meg was the kind of woman who didn’t care for shopping and didn’t like a lot of fuss made over her, something that amused her friends. Lucia was the queen of thrift stores and Aurora was no stranger to online shopping and discreet shopping trips to New York.

“Of course, we’ll wear whatever you want us to,” Lucia had promised, knowing full well that she and Aurora would use every resource to find the perfect outfits.

“We’ll match the cupcakes,” she’d said, giving Aurora a wink. Lucia was Meg’s best friend, their having met in culinary school, and was the town’s baker. She was baking the wedding cake, plus crate loads of cupcakes so that no one in town would miss out on the wedding dessert. Aurora couldn’t imagine how the woman managed it. Baking was a mystery, and Aurora was on the outside looking in when it came to that particular skill.

In fact, most of her domestic skills were nonexistent.

Despite a knack for shopping, Aurora had never dressed to match bakery products before, but in the past four years she’d done a lot of things she’d never done before. She bought a bar, she ran a business, she quilted—quilted, how odd was that!—and she had girlfriends.

Girlfriends. Imagine.

Wait until they heard that someone who claimed to be Sam’s brother was in town.

* * *

“HURRY,” JAKE SAID.

“Why?”

“We’re going to a wedding.”

“We can’t go to a wedding without being invited,” his prim daughter declared.

“We’re not actually going to attend the wedding,” he said, hustling her back to the truck. “We’re going to meet your uncle Sam. Unless you can think of what else we can do in a town that’s closed.”

“We could go back to Lewistown. Or Billings. We could go to the movies.”

Three logical suggestions, and he didn’t even consider them. He wanted to see Sam. Needed to see Sam. He was so close, and after all these years he didn’t want to wait until tomorrow.

“We could wait until tomorrow,” his daughter continued. “When we could arrive at a more opportune time.”

“A more opportune time? Someone should monitor your time spent watching Masterpiece Theatre.”

“That would be you, I guess.”

“Got that right.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Downton Abbey. Are you not aware how popular it is? The whole world—”

“She’s heading north. Keep your eye on the car.”

“You’re going to scare her if you follow her. She might even call the police.”

He sighed. The woman was stunningly beautiful. He’d almost fallen off the sidewalk when he’d opened the door of the bar and she was right there. She had the oval face and flawless skin of a model; those cool blue eyes had assessed him with the aloof attitude that beautiful women often have.

He had not impressed her, and she didn’t care if he knew it. “I don’t think she scares easily.”

“She asked me if I was being kidnapped.” Winter made a big show out of making sure her seat belt was fastened correctly.

“The woman has a big imagination.”

Winter turned that serious blue-eyed gaze upon him, a look he’d grown used to in the four and a half days since he’d become her father. “She said she’d keep me safe and call the police. No, the sheriff.”

“That was nice of her,” Jake said, impressed that a stranger would go to the trouble. She would have rescued a little girl and risked missing that important wedding she was in such a hurry to get to.

“I liked her hair. Maybe I should grow mine long.”

“You could.” Ah, yes. The hair. Silver-blond and fashionably long and straight. Dangly earrings that appeared to be flowers, the same flowers on her dress. A body that stood out, despite being covered by a puffy vest. Even the ugly suede boots did nothing to detract from the woman’s beauty.

“She looked like a movie star. Like someone famous.”

“Maybe she is.” He’d seen that long, silver-blond hair before, he thought. Onstage where he’d performed? No, he couldn’t picture her singing country. Or rockabilly.

His serious child thought for a moment. “What would she be doing here? Would someone famous own a bar?”

“Probably not,” he conceded. “Someone famous might own a bar, I guess, but not work there. She looked like she worked there.”

“I guess.” Then she paused. “I want to go home.”

“Yes,” he said, keeping his eye on the red Subaru SUV flying along the road. “You’ve said that before.”

“I don’t want to be on a road trip.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know you.”

“Which is the point of the trip.” He thought about the virtue of patience, and how he’d never known he’d had any until two weeks ago, when he got the phone call from Merry’s lawyers. Another short week came and went and then he’d gassed up the truck and ushered his new daughter into the front seat.

“I want to go home,” she repeated, this time louder.

“Which is a problem,” he pointed out, hoping he sounded paternal and calm.

“You don’t have to rub it in,” she muttered. “I know I’m a problem.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Jake despaired of getting this fatherhood thing figured out. “I meant the fact that you want to go home is a prob—an issue—something to figure out.”

“I’m sorry.” She fiddled with the zipper on her jacket. When she was stressed she couldn’t keep her hands still. He wondered if she’d ever picked up a guitar.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about.” He was sorry for her. Winter. And why had Merry named the child after a season?

As for Merry Lee, ambitious and beautiful, it was hard to empathize with the woman who had kept his child’s existence from him for eleven and a half years.

Merry’s first album had gone platinum, as had the second. She’d married someone in Europe, had a child, was rich, he’d heard. But Jake hadn’t paid much attention. They’d had a three-month affair when he filled in for her guitar player on a summer tour, ended up married in Vegas and then they’d gone their separate ways. Merry wasn’t so merry and had a mean temper when she wasn’t in front of an audience. The quick divorce had been a relief, and the brief marriage to Merry Lee was something in the distant past.

Until now.

Winter was now digging through the console. “What about the GPS?”

“Try it,” Jake said, grateful for the change of subject. “Maybe the Triple M Ranch is on there.”

“Like an address?” She reached into the console between the seats and retrieved the GPS.

“Yeah. If not, look it up.” He gestured toward his cell phone, a state-of-the-art iPhone he’d bought for the trip. “Try texting Sam again. Maybe he’ll answer and give us directions.”

“I don’t think it’s right to crash a wedding,” Winter huffed, typing into the device. “We could be escorted from the premises.”

“Excuse me, Miss Manners,” he said, making her smile just a little bit. “If you can find a store between here and this ranch, we’ll buy a gift and make the whole thing legitimate.”

They both eyed the expanse of open land ahead of them.

“Fat chance,” she muttered, frowning at the screen. “There’s nothing between here and the Triple M. It’s a historic ranch and was founded by a man from Scotland named Angus MacGregor. There’s even a picture.” She held the phone up so he could see.

“MacGregor,” Jake repeated. “That’s the name of the groom, so we’re heading to the right place. Are there directions?”

Winter looked stricken. “We can’t go there. We really could get in trouble.”

“We won’t get in trouble,” Jake promised his overly serious child. “We’ll owe them a gift, which we will buy tomorrow. You can pick it out. We won’t stay for the food or the dancing. We’ll find Sam, get the key to his house and get off the road. We’ll ask the butler to give him a message.” He grinned. “What do you say?”

“Not funny. I’ll text him again. Getting off the road would be okay,” Winter agreed, setting the GPS device into its dashboard cradle. “But we’re not going into the reception.”

“Unless the bride requests a song,” he added, and then wished he’d kept his mouth shut. He’d learned, over the past six days, that she didn’t care much for teasing. She didn’t think he was all that funny, and she had little use for music. He suspected she was tone-deaf, which was odd considering that her parents were musicians.

His daughter rolled her eyes. “Oh, please.”

“Hey,” he protested, “she might be a fan.”

“You are so not going to sing.”

Trying to make her laugh, Jake broke out in a bluesy, off-key version of a seven-year-old hit song.

She ignored him, something she was good at. She didn’t care to answer too many questions. In fact, in the week he’d known her, she’d said little about her mother, even less about her childhood. Apparently her mother’s cousin had acted as nanny early on, but she’d married and had her own children. Winter had spent the past six years in boarding schools and summer camps.

Except for this year.

This year she had a father.

For better or for worse.

And whether she wanted one or not.

* * *

AURORA DIDN’T CARE if Jake Hove—if that’s who he really was—followed her out to the Triple M. The male guests at the wedding—and there would be a lot of them, considering that the town’s population was overwhelmingly male—were more than capable of taking care of a stranger who might want to cause trouble.

If he turned out to be Sam’s problem, then Sam could deal with him. If he was really Sam’s brother—and Aurora had had time in the car to ponder the resemblance between the two men, deciding they did share certain physical characteristics—then Lucia would no doubt explain the situation to Meg and Aurora the next time they met for coffee or lunch or a glass of wine.

Planning this wedding had given Aurora what Lucia called “girlfriend time.” Now that she’d experienced it, Aurora intended to continue the practice. Between girlfriend time and quilting lessons, she was slowly filling the lonely hours with friendships instead of compulsively scrubbing woodwork in the bar.

In the past four years since moving to Willing, she’d discovered it was easy to cry and scrub at the same time. Aurora thumbed her iPod and listened to Joshua Bell’s new release.

Three young men flagged her down after she’d navigated the long road to the main house, a large white building that looked as if it were a ranch house on a movie set.

Les, the youngest member of the town council and a sweet young man, stepped over to her car.

“Hey, Aurora.”

“Hey, Les.”

“We’ll park it for you,” he said. “The yard’s still a little muddy, so Owen has asked everyone to walk on the gravel and go straight to the barn. Unless you’re going to the house...? You can go on the grass to the front, because it’s not so bad. Ms. Loralee and Shelly are in there with Meg.”

“All right. Thank you.” She stepped out, ignored the appreciative looks from the young men and retrieved her bag and her purse, then trudged across the grassy yard to the front steps of the wide covered porch. She stepped out of her muddy boots and left them off to the side before opening the heavy door and walking inside.

One of Lucia’s little boys greeted her. “Hi, Miss ’Rora. You look nice.”

“Thank you, Matty.”

“The baby won’t stop crying,” he said, peeling paper from a frosted cupcake. All dark hair and dark eyes and wearing a white button-down shirt and black pants, six-year-old Matty was adorably rumpled. Aurora suspected the shirt wouldn’t be clean for very much longer.

Sure enough, a baby wailed from another room. “Uh-oh. Is that Laura?”

“Yep.” He carefully licked the frosting violet from the top of the dessert. “Grandma says she needs a nap. My mom made a lot of these.”

“How many have you eaten?” She suspected this wasn’t his first. She also suspected his mother didn’t know he’d been sampling the dessert.

“Today?”

She nodded.

He frowned in concentration, trying to remember accurately. “Four.”

“Wow.” Aurora had little experience with children and absolutely none with young boys. Lucia’s three children often seemed like strange, energetic creatures who made a lot of noise and couldn’t sit still.

“I ate seven last night,” he confided. “Without frosting. For supper.”

“Aurora!” The cupcake eater’s mother came rushing into the hall. “We were getting worried about you.”

“I was delayed. Sorry. I had a—”

“Matty! I thought I told you no more cupcakes.” She plucked the half-eaten cake from her son’s sticky fingers. “Go to the barn. Now. Tell Sam you’re all supposed to stay with him now.”

“Okay.”

“And stay in the barn this time,” she said.

“Where’s Mama?” Mama Marie was Lucia’s mother-in-law and a devoted grandmother. Well known in town for her Italian cooking and generous nature, she was known to everyone as “Mama Marie” or simply “Mama.” Aurora was a little afraid of her. She often had the impression that Mama Marie looked at her and disapproved of what she saw.

“She’s keeping Loralee from driving Meg insane.”

“Is the mother of the bride giving the bride more advice?”

“She keeps fussing over Meg’s hair, wants her to put on more mascara. You know the drill.”

“Right.” Loralee was not known for subtlety. Flamboyant, softhearted and outspoken, she was best experienced in small doses. “What can I do, besides guard the dessert and distract Loralee?”

“We’re going to get everyone out of the house and into their seats in the barn. I imagine the groom is getting edgy.”

“The groom has been edgy for weeks.” Aurora wondered if Owen thought Meg would change her mind again, the way she had done when she was eighteen and refused to run away with him for the second time. According to Meg, the first elopement hadn’t gone according to plan.

“And please tell Meg she looks beautiful. She’s stressing over her hair.”

“I’ll bet she’s gorgeous,” Aurora said, following Lucia up the wide mahogany staircase to the second floor.

“She is,” Lucia said. “Even if she doesn’t think so.”

“Does Sam have a brother?”

Lucia stopped at the top of the stairs. “Yes. Why?”

“I think he’s in town.”

“In town? This town?”

“You weren’t expecting him?”

“He and Sam have talked a couple of times, but Sam didn’t say anything about him coming here. They’ve wanted to reconnect, though. It’s been a long time since they’ve seen each other.” She seemed puzzled. “I thought we were going to fly to Nashville this summer, after the—”

“I told him you were here,” Aurora said. “He wanted to know why everything in town was closed, so I explained about the wedding.”

Her friend looked thoughtful. “I’ll tell Sam to call him right away. I made him turn his phone off this morning so we could get out here early. Otherwise it’s insane. The phone never stops ringing with business calls.”

“Is he planning another trip to, um, the jungle?”

“He’s always planning another business trip, another documentary,” Lucia said. “And then there’s the book project. But we have a wedding and a honeymoon in Belize first. At least that’s what Sam says now.”

“I think he’s more than ready for the wedding,” Aurora said. “When is it going to be?”

“Soon. But we’ll do something small,” she confided. “Something this summer, after school is out. By the way, I love your boots.”

“Thank you.”

“Vintage?”

“No.”

“They’re so original I thought maybe—”

“Aurora! Thank goodness.” The bride, who looked stunning in a simple ivory scoop-necked lace dress that skimmed her slender body and stopped below her knees, fairly flew out of her room to where they stood at the top of the stairs. She’d refused to consider a traditional wedding gown and had instead ordered her dress from Nordstrom, online.

A bold move, Aurora had thought at the time. But typical Meg and totally beautiful.

“What do you need?” she asked the bride.

“What time is it?” Meg smiled, but she looked a little harried. “Time seems to be moving very slowly this morning.”

Lucia checked her watch. “You have five, maybe ten, minutes. Guess what. Aurora found a man this morning.”

Meg seemed impressed. “What kind of man?”

“Sam’s brother, or so he says,” Aurora answered, following Meg back into the bedroom, Lucia trailing behind them. “They do look alike. A little.”

“What did you do with him?” Meg went over to the window, as if by looking outside she would spot him. The large, freshly painted pale blue room faced the back of the house, with three tall windows facing the barns and the hills beyond. Lace curtains hung to the polished wood floors and an enormous bed, its mattress covered in an exquisite blue and white Irish chain quilt, took up most of the space.

“I left him in town, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he followed me here. He knew that Sam was at the wedding.”

“Wow. What does he look like?”

Aurora frowned. “Handsome, of course. Like his brother. And he’s very confident.”

“Confident,” Lucia repeated, frowning a little. “What does that mean? He’s obnoxious?”

“No,” Aurora said quickly, not wanting to insult Lucia’s future brother-in-law. “He seems very self-assured, as if there isn’t anything that bothers him.” She threw up her hands. “I don’t know how to explain it. It’s as if any kind of trouble would slide right off the man.” She sat on the bed and ran her hand along the delicate stitching.

“Sam’s calm like that, too.”

“Maybe it runs in the family,” Meg suggested.

Lucia joined her at the window. “It could. They had a pretty rough childhood and haven’t seen each other in years. Sam’s going to be thrilled he’s here.”

“He’s here, all right,” Aurora said. “His daughter is—”

“Daughter?”

“You didn’t know he had a daughter?”

Lucia shook her head slowly. “I didn’t even know he was married.”

“Not exactly a prerequisite,” Meg pointed out. She smoothed the front of her dress nervously.

“No, but Sam didn’t say anything about Jake having a daughter. How old is she?”

“Eleven, twelve, maybe? It’s hard to tell with kids these days.” Aurora had absolutely no experience with children, unless she counted the rare times she was with Lucia’s boys. And they were special, sweet children who had excellent manners. She secretly adored the littlest one. There was something about those big dark eyes that got her every time.

“Eleven,” Lucia mused. “I can’t wait to meet her. We could use a girl in the family.”

“Chances are he’s in the barn talking to Sam right now.” She wouldn’t be surprised at all to discover he’d made himself one of the wedding guests.

“Well, let’s get this wedding going so we can check the guy out,” Meg said.

“You’re not supposed to be thinking about men other than Owen,” Aurora informed her. “You’re supposed to be gazing at yourself in the mirror and worrying about your hair. Which is beautiful. As is the rest of you.”

“I’ve done that and I agree—

I look pretty good.”

“More like radiant and gorgeous and very happy,” Aurora assured her. “You’re the prettiest bride in Montana.”

Lucia leaned over and adjusted the seed pearl headpiece that held an elegant lace veil intended to fall down Meg’s back. “I like this. It’s not too fussy, but it’s very bridal.”

“The boots are a nice touch,” Aurora said.

“I splurged,” Meg confessed, looking down at the white pointed-toe Western boots that peeked out from under the hem of her dress. “My mother was beside herself with joy.”

Lucia finished fussing with the veil. “When you’re marrying a Montana rancher on his ranch, in a barn, you’d better be wearing the appropriate footwear.”

Aurora noticed Lucia’s own deep purple boots, along with her long-sleeved, formfitting brilliant yellow dress. She was a petite woman, with black hair that could only come from her Lakota Sioux grandmother. Intricately beaded purple-and-yellow earrings hung almost to her shoulders. She had great taste, an eye for color and, as a widow and single mother of three, needed to live frugally.

Aurora hoped that the “frugal” part would change once she married Sam, but she doubted her friend would quit going to secondhand stores. She liked the thrill of the hunt too much to stop.

Aurora wondered what Lucia would think of her new future brother-in-law.

There was a mystery here, but if anyone could get to the bottom of it, Lucia would. And Aurora couldn’t wait to find out.

* * *

“WILL YOU TAKE this woman to be your lawfully wedded bride?”

“I will,” Owen MacGregor declared amid impromptu male cheers. There was shushing and sniffling and a baby cried.

Aurora didn’t know whether to laugh or burst into tears. Since she never cried in front of people and wasn’t much for bursts of laughter, she sat quietly next to Loralee and hid a smile. Leave it to the rough-and-tumble men of Willing to cheer during a wedding ceremony.

She opened her little yellow purse and pulled out a tissue, which she handed to Loralee, the weeping mother of the bride. She, Loralee, Shelly, Lucia, Sam and the children were seated in the front row as Meg and Owen exchanged simple and moving vows.

“And will you, Margaret Ripley, take Owen MacGregor to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“After all this, she’d better say yes,” Loralee muttered.

“I will,” Meg said, prompting another burst of cheering from the congregation gathered in the historic and enormous barn. Aurora wondered how Owen had cleaned the place so quickly. He didn’t own cattle or horses yet, but she assumed that as he revived the once thriving cattle ranch, he’d use the barn for practical purposes.

Or rent it out as a wedding venue.

The rings were exchanged as the crowd watched in respectful silence. Aurora had heard that Owen’s mother was too ill to attend the ceremony, but Meg had confided that the woman had never approved of Meg and her relationship with her son. And that some things in life never changed.

So Loralee, the only family member, continued to sob quietly into Aurora’s tissue. Tony, Lucia’s youngest, climbed over his mother, stirring up a little cloud of hay dust, and settled himself against Aurora to examine the charms on her gold bracelet. Aurora held her arm still so he could peruse them to his heart’s content.

Someone from the church sang while Meg and Owen held hands and smiled at each other.

Yes, Aurora decided, all cleaned up like this, it was the perfect place for a wedding. Her own bar, the Dahl, was overdue for a makeover, too. But something more extensive than the good scrubbing Owen had given this barn. She’d been working on reno plans for months, not telling anyone what she intended. It was to be a surprise for the women in town.

We’ll have a patio, she mused. And a lovely room for bridal showers and bachelorette parties. The bathrooms, which she’d upgraded when she bought the place, would be enlarged and brightened. She wouldn’t do anything to change the log walls, of course, because the original building had an ambiance that was impossible to replicate, but she would definitely replace the stinky old wood paneling.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the minister announced. “You may now kiss the bride.”

The crowd roared its approval. Loralee pumped a fist in the air. Tony climbed from his seat beside her on the hay onto Aurora’s lap and surprised her with a wet kiss on her neck.

Life in Willing was about to improve in all kinds of ways.

CHAPTER TWO

AS THE GATHERED guests began to stand and mingle and the bride and groom signed official papers, the mayor of Willing, Jerry Thompson, sat trapped on a bale of hay between the town’s teenaged unwed mother and the infamous mother of the bride, a woman married so many times she’d lost count. As a young man deeply committed to improving the small town, Jerry was accustomed to being in situations where the utmost tact was called for. He was the master of small talk, of mingling, of schmoozing.

Unfortunately he was not comfortable sitting next to a woman who was feeding her baby in a very, um, natural way. There was a blanket, there was no skin showing, but still...

Awkward.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, there’s another one.” Loralee, mother of the bride and self-appointed grandmother to Shelly’s baby, wore a slinky purple dress and pale pink boots with purple embroidery on the shafts. She was sixty-two and, as she’d told Jerry earlier, not ready to wear a polyester housedress and serviceable shoes.

“Another what?” Shelly shifted her lump of baby against her chest. Little Laura didn’t make a peep.

“Another man hoping to meet women from California. Some of these men think that single women by the busloads are running rampant on Main Street.”

“So?” Jerry entered the conversation against his better judgment. Like eating half a chocolate cream pie, he would regret he’d done it. He didn’t bother to notice who Loralee was staring at, having decided to look straight ahead and avoid any risk of seeing the breast-feeding process.

“The word’s out.”

“That was the whole idea to begin with,” Jerry muttered. “Attract people? Make the town viable again? The word being out is a good thing, remember? Besides, he’s probably a friend of Owen’s from Washington. There were quite a few coming, weren’t there?”

“Not with a child. I pretty much memorized the guest list, having gone over it so many times with Meg.”

“He’s very handsome, too,” Shelly murmured. “He seems a little familiar. Are you sure we don’t know him?”

Jerry finally turned to look. An unfamiliar tall man stood inside the barn door and looked around as if he was hoping to see someone he knew. A young girl with gold short hair stood close to him. The stranger leaned over and said something to her and she shook her head.

“I’ve never seen him before. Maybe he’s another reporter,” Jerry said. “I’ll go find out.”

“Don’t give him an interview. This is a private party.” Loralee sniffed. “Publicity is okay, but not at my daughter’s wedding.”

Jerry paid no attention to Loralee’s complaint. He lived for publicity. He’d engineered the town’s involvement in the reality dating show and he’d welcomed the Hollywood crew to Willing. His girlfriend produced the show, which had resulted in at least one of the town’s bachelors finding the woman of his dreams, and the show was due to be aired the last Monday of April. He’d had many calls from many reporters, but he hadn’t talked to anyone who’d intended to come to Willing six weeks early.

He hadn’t talked to anyone who was interested in the MacGregor wedding, either, because it had nothing to do with the upcoming show.

“I’ll check him out.” Jerry lifted himself from the bale of hay and brushed off his pants. The barn, decorated in a real Western flavor, could be used for many wedding receptions in the years to come. They’d filmed one of the big moments of the show here this winter, and since then Owen had kept it empty. It was a huge space, undivided by stalls or stanchions or whatever barns had inside them. It would have held a lot of hay, if that’s what it was originally used for.

The wooden floor was faded and worn, but it had charm and character. The huge beams sparkled with ropes of tiny white lights.

“One whole day,” Les said, pointing to the beams as Jerry paused beside him. “That’s how long it took us to string those lights. We strung some for the show, but Meg wanted more. A lot more.”

“It looks good.”

The young man glanced toward Shelly, who was now holding her baby upright and patting its little back. “It’s a good place for weddings.”

Jerry agreed. “Owen and Meg could do a nice business here, with the barn and the catering and the whole rustic Montana historic ranch thing going on.”

“It holds more people than the community center, or the café,” Les added.

“If it looks good on the show, they’ve got it made. You can’t buy that kind of publicity.”

“No, sir, you can’t.” Les’s attention moved back to Shelly. “I’d sure like to get married. This wedding is pretty big, though. And it sure must cost a lot. It would take me a real long time to save up for a wedding.”

“Your money’s best spent elsewhere,” Jerry agreed. The young man’s love for the once homeless teenager was sweet, but Shelly had issues. She was only nineteen, had a baby with a rodeo charmer who’d turned out to be married and lived with Loralee in one of Meg’s cabins. She worked as a waitress and lived off tips, plus the extra money she made cleaning houses.

She wasn’t Jerry’s idea of the perfect love interest, but to each his own.

“I’m saving up for a house,” Les said. “I’m thinking about building something small, out at my grandparents’.”

“It’s good to have a plan.” Jerry pointed out the man near the doorway. “Do you know who that is?”

“Nope.”

“Well, I’m going to go find out. Loralee doesn’t want any wedding crashers.”

“I saw that movie. She’s right. Owen wouldn’t like that.” Les narrowed his eyes. “Whoa! The guy’s talking to my grandfather.”

Sure enough, Lawrence Parcell appeared to be helping the stranger out, pointing to the tables where the food was being set up. “He could be one of Owen’s city friends, but Loralee doesn’t think so.”

“Why would a wedding crasher bring a kid?”

“Good point.” Jerry edged away. “Let’s go see.”

He didn’t really think the guy was trouble, but it was as good an excuse as any to move through the crowd, shake some hands, spread goodwill and accept congratulations for the success of the filming of the TV show.

Jerry wanted to bask in the glory of the first of many Willing weddings. In fact, he’d offered to give a toast before dinner. To the first of many Willing weddings, he’d say, lifting a glass of champagne. To the first of many blissful couples, to happy brides and brave grooms and to populating the Willing school with more students. To new businesses. To tourists. To increased tax revenues.

No, he couldn’t go that far. But it was tempting.

He’d been advised by Owen to keep it personal. No campaign speeches, the groom had ordered. Keep it simple.

Jerry wasn’t fond of simple. He was up for reelection in a year and a half.

He eased past his constituents, a boisterous group who talked to one another as if they hadn’t been out of their homes in months. Well, winter could do that, make you feel as if you lived in a cave with a television set and a phone and a freezer full of fish, beef and maybe some venison. Thankfully he lived in the middle of town and could get out whenever he wanted. He could walk to the café, to the Dahl, to the community center for the various meetings and social activities.

Tracy had wanted him to come to California for the winter, but he couldn’t get away for more than a week at a time. And once a month, if he was lucky. He played bingo with the seniors on Saturday nights, competed in the Dahl’s Trivial Pursuit contest, organized the annual film festival—a collection of local residents’ home movies—and managed every detail of his town’s involvement with the television show.

Tracy thought he was insane.

“Really? Charles Russell?” the stranger was saying.

“They’ve got a museum in Great Falls,” Mr. Parcell said. “You can see where he painted. Pretty impressive, if you like art.”

“I like art,” the man replied. “Maybe my daughter—”

“Ever heard of Charles Russell, young lady?”

The child nodded. “I studied artists of the American West last year. Charles Russell was known as one of the greatest and produced over four thousand works.”

“Well, now,” Les’s grandfather drawled. “I’m impressed with your education. Where’d you go to school?”

“I used to attend Lady Bishop Pettigrew’s,” the little blonde girl replied. “But I was recently expelled.”

“Why?” Jerry interrupted, stepping into the small group. He couldn’t help himself. This angelic-looking child didn’t seem at all like a troublemaker. But maybe Lady Pettigrew’s had a stricter code of conduct than the schools in Montana.

“I have severe psychological issues.”

“Don’t we all?” Jerry said into the following silence. He held a hand out to what looked like the girl’s stunned father. “Jerry Thompson, mayor,” he said. “Since we haven’t met, I assume you’re a friend of the groom?”

“Not exactly,” the other man said, flashing a quick smile. “I’m Jake Hove, and this is my daughter, Winter.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet both of you.” Jerry shook hands with them. The man seemed friendly enough, though he kept scanning the crowd as if he was looking for someone. Winter didn’t seem severely disturbed. Jerry thought she seemed like a nice enough kid. She didn’t have any obvious piercings or tattoos. She was expensively dressed, in designer jeans and a hoodie. Growing up in Los Angeles had taught him to recognize high-end clothing. “Did you say Hove? Any relation to—”

“Sam,” Jake said. “My brother. We’re not attending the reception,” he added quickly, glancing at the girl. “We’re in town and I wanted to see—”

“We waited outside during the wedding,” Winter broke in. “We didn’t wish to be rude.”

“The bride and groom wouldn’t have cared or even noticed,” Mr. Parcell said. “The whole town was invited. Of course, they know everyone in town, so it was only right.”

Winter nodded. “We saw the poster at the bar.”

“We weren’t in the bar,” Jake quickly assured them.

“I was,” Winter said. “I needed to make use of the facilities.”

The old man frowned. “What?”

“She talks like that sometimes,” Jake told him.

Jerry wondered if severe psychological issues manifested as speaking with a British accent. Maybe the child had different personalities, like Sybil in that movie he’d seen when he was a kid. Jerry shuddered.

Jake scanned the crowd. “Is Sam here?”

“He’ll be up at the main house with Lucia getting the food ready,” Jerry said. “She and Marie Swallow are organizing the potluck in the tent.”

“I’ll check there. Thanks.”

“It’s the big white Victorian,” Jerry added. “You passed it when you walked in, and of course, you’ll have seen the reception tent. It’s almost as big as the barn.”

“Thanks.” Jake put his hand on Winter’s shoulder. “We’ll head over there.”

“How long are you going to be in town?”

“I’m not sure. We’re on our way home. To Nashville.”

“That’s quite a drive,” Jerry said, glancing toward the child again. “I hope you’ll enjoy your stay in Willing. We have a lot of things going on in town right now, with the television show about to air.”

“Television show?” Now that caught the girl’s interest.

Jerry nodded. “Oh, yeah. We’re about to become famous. Your uncle can tell you all about it. He was at most of the filming.”

“But I thought he makes documentaries,” Winter said. “In South America.” She turned to her father. “You didn’t tell me he filmed a show here.”

“I didn’t know,” her father said. “We didn’t talk very long and—”

“Oh, this wasn’t one of Sam’s fishing films. This had nothing to do with him. Ours was a reality show,” Jerry explained. “We took twenty-four of our most eligible men here in town and created a dating show.”

“Willing to Wed?” Jake grinned.

“Yes! You’ve heard of it?” The money spent on publicity was paying off already.

“A woman at your local bar told us about it.”

“Tall? Silver hair? Attitude?”

Jake grinned. “Yes.”

“Watch out,” he warned. “That’s Aurora Jones. She can emasculate you with one look. The woman makes my life miserable.”

“You’re, uh, involved?”

“No! There isn’t a man in town who would take her on.” He looked around the room, half expecting Aurora would pop out from behind a flower-covered post and badger him about her building permit again. “We have a professional relationship.”

“I thought she was nice.” Winter glared at him as if he’d just said Cinderella was an evil witch who stepped on mice and punched princes.

“I suppose she can be,” he offered. “When she wants to.”

Les’s grandfather leaned forward. “Did you see the grizzly bear inside the Dahl?”

Winter nodded. “It was a grizzly bear?”

The old man nodded. “Owen MacGregor’s grandfather shot that bear and had it mounted for the Dahl. There are some people around here who think a grizzly would be easier to get along with than Aurora Jones.”

“I beg your pardon,” Winter said. “But I must disagree.”

“So does my wife,” the old man declared. “She says she’s clever with a needle.”

“What does that mean, ‘clever with a needle’?”

“Quilting,” he explained. “The women around here spend hours cutting up fabric and sewing it back together.”

“I think we’ll go find my brother now,” Jake said, urging the child toward the door.

“Watch out. Aurora’s probably gone back to the kitchen with the rest of them.”

“The kitchen?” Mike Peterson, standing nearby, chuckled. “I hope she didn’t cook anything.”

“She didn’t,” Les assured him. “She donated the champagne instead.”

“Well, good,” Jerry muttered. “We won’t need the Red Cross tomorrow.”

* * *

ALL HE’D WANTED to do was find his brother. That’s all. He had Sam’s phone number. He had his address. Who would have thought an entire town would be closed for business on an April Sunday afternoon?

Now he was at a stranger’s wedding, on a ranch, in the middle of nowhere. He’d met the mayor and some of the locals and seen for himself the historic MacGregor Ranch. But he wanted to see Sam. Ten years was a long time. Ten years was pretty stupid.

“Brigadoon, that’s what this is,” his daughter said, following him out of the barn and into the sunshine. “Have you ever seen that movie?”

“No.” He started along a gravel path toward the main house, easily sixty yards away. A large addition jutted out from the back of the house, where a door was propped open.

“That’s where we are,” she said, hurrying to keep up. “In a land that time forgot.”

“You’re mixing up your movies. I saw The Land That Time Forgot.” Women kept disappearing into that opened door, which meant that’s where the food was.

“No, Brigadoon is when two people end up in a town where it’s two or three hundred years—well, a long time—ago, only it’s not. It’s modern day, but they’re not, you know, modern.” She looked back at the barn. “Do you think they’ll square-dance?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’ve never heard of square dancing?”

“I’ve heard of square dancing,” he said, taking a deep breath as they approached the open door. Two laughing older women carrying casseroles stepped out. Jake said a silent prayer for patience. He was nervous, he realized. And that realization sent another stab of nerves into his belly. Guilt, fear and excitement warred for space in his chest. Jake didn’t often feel nervous, and he sure as heck didn’t like the feeling.

His life had changed beyond recognition recently, and he wasn’t sure he liked it all that much.

His guilt flared up again. He should have known Merry was up to something when she’d insisted on an annulment, a quick one. She was off to Europe, she wouldn’t meet with him and she hired a lawyer to handle the situation so Jake wouldn’t have to bother.

He’d been on tour, having gotten a job playing rhythm guitar in a band opening for Faith and Tim. His big break. He’d felt nothing for Merry but relief when she was gone.

“Tomorrow,” his suddenly talkative daughter continued, “this place could be enveloped in a mysterious mist and we’ll all disappear. Maybe we should escape while we can.”

Jake thought he might prefer to talk about Downton Abbey. “Do you really think Lady Mary will marry again?”

Winter giggled. That was a first. Jake stopped walking in order to see it for himself. The child looked younger when she smiled. “You look so funny,” she said. “And you don’t know who Lady Mary is!”

“Oh, yes, I do,” he grumbled, just to keep her smiling. “You talked about her all the way from Seattle to Spokane. She’s the oldest sister and she was supposed to inherit Downton Abbey but— What?”

Winter pointed to the door. “There she is!”

“Who?”

“The lady from the bar. See?”

Oh, he saw, all right. She would be hard to miss, Jake thought. Once again he realized that she was easily one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen, with the kind of beauty that should be on magazine covers, except she wasn’t a bone-thin model. The dress hugged her curvaceous body in all the right places, yet floated around her legs to give her room to dance. In his experience playing in about five thousand bars, the women wearing floaty skirts always intended to dance.

The yellow boots were sexy as all get out, too.

And then there was the hair, platinum waves that fell well past her shoulders. She’d pinned back the sides, exposing a face that would be considered angelic, except that Mayor Jerry had warned him that she was anything but.

And he’d experienced her brusque manner himself, though she’d been kind to Winter and protective of her friends’ privacy.

An interesting woman.

Not his type.

The interesting woman who was not his type saw Winter and smiled, then looked at Jake. Her smile collapsed as they approached.

“You found it,” she said, not sounding the least bit happy to see them.

“We did. I was told Sam might be over here.” He gestured toward the door.

“He’s inside.” She hesitated. “Be careful.”

“Of what?”

“People carrying food. We’re setting up dinner in the tent. The bride and groom are having their pictures taken in front of the house and by the barn. When they’re done, we’ll eat.”

“I won’t keep Sam long,” Jake promised.

“Meg said you’re welcome to stay and enjoy the party.” She turned to Winter. “And you, too, of course. Lucia and Sam are really looking forward to meeting you.”

“I’ve never had an uncle before,” Winter confided.

“You’ll have three cousins after he gets married,” Aurora pointed out.

“He’s getting married?” This was news to Jake. All Sam had said over the phone was I’ve met someone. Someone special.

She stared at him. “He didn’t tell you?”

“I didn’t know it was official,” he bluffed.

“Hmm.”

“Well,” he said, attempting to move past her and go into the kitchen. “We have a lot of catching up to do. If you’ll excuse me....”

“Three cousins,” Winter repeated. “How old? Boys or girls?”

“Boys,” Aurora replied. “Younger than you.”

“Oh.” She didn’t bother to hide her disappointment.

“They’re not all that bad,” Aurora assured her. “And you’ll like your future aunt. Come on, then. I’ll help you find them.”

With that, they were ushered inside a large room set up like a dining hall. One part of the room held worn tables and benches, while the other was a large old-fashioned kitchen.

“I told you,” Winter muttered. “It’s like a hundred years ago.”

“How would you know?” He was curious; after all, she’d spent her life in Europe and he wouldn’t expect her to know a lot of American history.

“I’ve seen Westerns,” she told her father. “This is where the cowboys eat.”

“You’re right,” Aurora said. “This is the summer kitchen.”

The summer kitchen was filled with very busy women organizing platters of food. But in the middle of all the activity was a tall, dark-haired man who hurried through the crowd toward him.

Sam.

Jake swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. His little brother looked good. They shook hands and stood there for a moment, not sure what to do. Then they embraced. It could have been awkward, but it wasn’t. It was reassuring. Sam seemed glad to see him.

“What’s it been,” Jake’s younger brother asked, “ten years?”

“Something like that,” he replied. “I was performing in that show in Miami.”

“And I was coming back from Brazil.”

They grinned at each other.

“Ten years?” A petite black-haired woman hurried up to Sam’s side and smiled as she tucked her arm through his. “Shame on both of you!”

“I’d like you to meet my fiancée,” Sam announced. “Lucia Swallow.”

She released Sam and gave Jake a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I am, too,” he replied, and put his hand on Winter’s shoulder. “My daughter, Winter. Winter, meet your uncle Sam and...Ms. Swallow.”

“Aunt Lucia,” Lucia corrected, giving Winter a hug. “I’ve never had a niece before.”

Sam shook Winter’s hand and grinned. “And now I’m an uncle. I didn’t know that until a little while ago. I’m really glad to meet you.”

“Thank you. I’m a bit of a surprise,” she informed them. “Jake didn’t know about me, either.”

Sam looked at Jake, with an expression that said we have a lot to catch up on. Jake nodded. He saw Lucia glance at Aurora, who had watched the family reunion with undisguised curiosity.

“You need to meet my sons,” Lucia said to Winter. “They’re with my mother. They’ll be so excited to know they have a cousin.”

“Stepcousin,” Winter corrected her, the familiar serious expression on her face. “I’m only a stepcousin.”

“That’s good enough,” Aurora said, joining the conversation. “You’re still part of the family, aren’t you?”

Winter considered that. “I suppose that’s true.”

“You’re very fortunate,” Aurora continued. “I don’t even have stepcousins.”

“You don’t?”

The silver-haired woman shrugged. “Not a one. No uncles, aunts or anyone else.”

“Like me,” Winter said.

Aurora shook her head. “No, you’re in much better shape.”

Jake thought the whole conversation was strange, but his daughter gave Aurora a quick smile.

“Come with me,” Sam said. “We’re going to track down the kids for Aunt Lucia and introduce you.”

“I hear you’re getting married?” Jake said casually.

“Yeah.” Sam glanced at Lucia and smiled as they left the two women standing there. “She’s made me settle down.”

“That’s hard to believe.”

“It was time,” his brother declared, but he looked happy about it.

Jake wasn’t sure if settling down was anything to celebrate, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

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