Kiss the Bride (16 page)

Charity pulled into the car-length driveway. “Sure, I can come in.”

Skye breathed a silent sigh of relief. So far, so good. She got out of the car and glanced up and down the street. No vehicles that didn't belong or made the neighborhood look too busy on a Saturday morning. Even better. Although she did wonder how far away most of their friends had had to park.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out her house key. Not that she would need it. She'd left the door unlocked so the guests could get inside while she and Charity were getting coffee. But she pretended for the bride's sake. She gave the door a little push to open it, then moved back and politely waved for Charity to go in first.

“Thanks.”

Charity had made it only one step inside when cries of “Surprise!” filled the air. She looked over her shoulder at Skye, as if she needed an explanation.

Skye grinned. “It's a bridal shower. Surprise!”

When she stepped into the house beside Charity, Skye couldn't believe how many women had managed to squeeze into her small living and dining rooms. Borrowed folding chairs filled every available space between sofa and stuffed chairs. Crepe paper had been draped from wall to wall and over doorways. A sheet cake sat in the center of the table, a punch bowl nearby.

Charity leaned to the side and asked, “Whose idea was this?”

“Mine. Sara's. Your sister's. Half the women here. We all wanted to do a shower, and Terri insisted it be a surprise.”

“Terri and her surprises. She's crazy for them.”

“Why don't you tell her yourself? She's right over there.”

Terri stepped out of the hallway into full view, and Charity's face lit up as she went to hug her sister. Once Terri let go, Charity was passed from person to person, collecting kisses on her cheeks and more warm hugs around the neck.

Skye beamed with pleasure. It was going to be a great bridal shower.

Of all of the various kinds of cooking Grant did for Leonard Ranch Ultimate Adventures—advertised as “luxury mountain glamping”—his favorites were the cookouts where he was waiting with a great meal when a string of horses and riders rounded a bend in the trail. He loved the surprised looks on the guests' faces, and folks were often impressed by what he accomplished with a fire burned down to the perfect temperature, a good-sized grill grate, and a large, well-seasoned cast-iron skillet.

Magic!

At that moment the guide, Buck Malone, was helping the greenhorns in his party take care of their mounts so that the humans and horses could, as Buck put it, “graze together.” Grant turned his attention to the rainbow trout and thin slices of lemon cooking in the skillet. Another minute or two and the food would be ready. On the edge of the grill grate a tinfoil container—filled with baby potatoes, red onions, bell peppers, and mushrooms—had reached the perfection stage. Later, the guests would enjoy peach halves
and brown sugar that had been grilled together, also in tinfoil. The dessert would be topped with the vanilla ice cream that was currently stored in one of the coolers with dry ice.

Grant was thankful for this job, one of two he worked in Kings Meadow during the summer. June through September, whenever Ultimate Adventures had guests—excepting Sundays and Mondays—Grant's days were spent at Chet Leonard's ranch or in the mountains nearby. Several evenings a week, he was also the cook at the Tamarack Grill on the western edge of town. For the past two years, the owner of the restaurant, Skeeter Simmons, had increased Grant's hours back to full-time duty once the Leonards' glamping season ended. Skeeter had promised to do the same again when October rolled around, and Grant was more than a little grateful for it.

He pulled the skillet away from the fire. “Come and get it!”

After that, Grant was too busy to think of anything beyond the food he'd prepared and the guests he served. It wasn't until an hour and a half later that he was alone once again at the cook site. As he returned supplies to the crates and bins in the back of the Leonard pickup truck, his thoughts wandered to other things.

He'd received a phone call from his older brother last night. Vince still lived in Montana, not far from the ranch where Vince, Grant, and their eight younger brothers and sisters had been raised. Vince had called with the news that his wife, Segunda, was going to have another baby. Their fourth. If there was one thing the Nichols family knew how to do, it was to reproduce like rabbits. At the age of thirty,
Grant was already an uncle to fourteen kids—all under the age of eleven—and in addition to Segunda, his youngest brother's wife also had a bun in the oven.

Every time one of his parents or siblings called Grant, the same two questions eventually came up: When was he going to get married? Shouldn't he think about starting a family soon?

No, thanks.

The pressure to marry and have kids was one of the reasons Grant had left Montana. He'd wanted some mileage between himself and the rest of the Nichols clan. He loved his parents and every single one of his siblings, as well as his nieces and nephews. But he had no plans to add to the family numbers. He already felt as if he'd raised a passel of kids. As the second oldest in the family, he'd been called upon to help with his brothers and sisters on a daily basis when they were all still at home. Maybe someday he would find the right woman and decide to get married, but he still wouldn't want any kids of his own.

The right woman.

The memory of Skye Foster popped into his head—and it wasn't the first time it had happened since he'd met the dance instructor. She was a little thing, both in height and weight. A bale of hay probably weighed more than she did. He ought to know. He'd pitched plenty of hay bales as a kid on his dad's ranch. But it was her big brown eyes and that bright smile of hers that he remembered most.

With the last of his gear put away, Grant got into the truck cab and started the engine. But he didn't drive away from thoughts of Skye as he headed toward the ranch complex. He
had to admit, he was looking forward to seeing her again. He'd be happier, though, if dance lessons weren't part of the bargain. All he could do was hope he wouldn't stomp on her feet too hard or too often or fling her into the wall. Earlier today, Grant had expressed similar concerns to Buck.

“Don't worry,” his friend had answered. “Skye's tougher than she looks. She's run half-ton horses around barrels to beat the clock since she was eleven or twelve years old. I imagine she can steer you where she wants you to go.” Buck had grinned. “She made a regular twinkle-toes out of me.”

They'd both laughed hard over that comment.

Grant decided to not worry about it. His first lesson with Skye Foster would be on Monday afternoon. He would know soon enough if there was any hope for him on the dance floor.

Or with Miss Foster.

Charity and her mother, Sophie Anderson, were the last to leave at the end of the bridal shower.

At the door, Charity gave Skye a tight squeeze. “This was so nice of you to do for me,” she said softly. As she drew back, she glanced at her mother. “I had no idea you're both such good liars. And Sara too. I didn't suspect a thing.”

“I'm glad we fooled you,” Skye answered. “I thought for sure I'd give something away before we got here.”

“Well, you didn't, and it was great fun.” Charity moved through the open doorway onto the front stoop. “See you Tuesday night?”

“Yeah. See you then.”

Skye waited to close the door until Sophie's Suburban and Charity's Lexus disappeared around a corner at the end of the street. Almost at once, exhaustion swept over her. She dropped onto the sofa with a sigh, thankful the other ladies had insisted on helping clean up before they left. The shower had been a great success, which delighted her to no end. But what she wanted most now was a nap. She closed her eyes, and visions of white wedding gowns filled her imagination as she drifted off to sleep.

Grant had been invited to Sunday dinner with the Leonard
family. During the summer, it always felt strange to be at the ranch and not be cooking for the guests of their glamping enterprise. Strange, but nice for a change.

Other than his dad, there wasn't any man Grant admired and respected more than Chet Leonard. Nearly twenty years Grant's senior, Chet had an easygoing way about him, even when life threw him curveballs. He also had a strong work ethic and an even stronger faith. It was the latter that had made him so important as a friend and mentor.

Grant had been a brand-new believer when he'd moved to Kings Meadow. Despite the best efforts of his parents, he'd known next to nothing about the Bible and forgotten whatever he'd learned as a kid in Sunday school. At twenty-six he'd been partial to beer, cigarettes, swearing a blue streak, and wild women—in no particular order. A lot of his sinful habits had fallen away the night he'd given himself
over to God. A lot of them, but not all. He'd still been a rough-around-the-edges Christian when he met Chet. The older man had taken an interest in Grant and had been guiding him ever since.

Now, an hour after polishing off hamburgers, potato salad, baked beans, and cherry-topped cheesecake, the two men sat on the back deck, shaded from view by huge, decades-old trees. Both of them held open Bibles on their laps.

“I understand what you're saying.” Grant leaned forward. “And I love the honesty of the psalmist. But this verse seems to be talking about killing babies. How can that be right in God's sight?”

“The Bible is full of hard sayings, Grant. I believe God wants us to wrestle over the words we don't understand and go to Him for answers.” Chet closed his Bible and moved it to a small table. “I also figure some things will remain a mystery, or we would have no need for faith.”

“And it's impossible to please God without faith,” Grant said, feeling a pleasant calm steal over him.

Chet nodded. “Yep.”

Grant thought about asking another question, but realized he had his answers for now. Then Chet's attention was drawn to the driveway leading to the highway. Grant's gaze followed, and he saw a silver pickup approaching the ranch complex. He knew that pickup—and his pulse quickened. Unless someone else was driving it, Grant wouldn't have to wait until tomorrow to see Skye Foster.

In unison the two men stood and reached for their hats. By the time the truck began to slow as it approached the
barnyard, Chet and Grant had left the deck and rounded the corner of the house.

The driver's side door of the Tacoma opened, and a moment later Skye dropped to the ground. Clad in boots and jeans, her hair covered with a straw cowboy hat, Grant thought her just about the cutest gal he'd ever laid eyes on. She kind of . . . sparkled.

Now there was a word he'd never before used to describe a woman.

Skye grinned when she saw the two men approaching. “Hey, Chet.” If she remembered Grant from their meeting outside the hair salon, she didn't greet him by name, although she did nod at him. “Hope I'm not interrupting anything. Kimberly said it was okay for me to come out this afternoon.”