A Cowboy's Christmas Proposal. Cathy McDavid

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

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

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

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

      “He quite enjoyed himself,” Nora said.

      “He’s prejudiced.”

      “Why do you say that?”

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

      “Can you blame her?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      Molly huffed. “You two are being ridiculous.”

      “Am I wrong?” Nora appealed to Bridget.

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

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

      “Ha! Then you agree with us.”

      “I didn’t say that.” Except, she had.

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

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

      “What? You expect me to set the DVR?”

      “Ah, yeah.”

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

      “And I have to clean the kitchen.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      “You ready?” she asked.

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

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

      “That soon?” He swallowed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      Molly cringed when no one laughed.

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