A Cowboy's Christmas Proposal

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.