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Her name was Gladys Martin and she lived at the local senior’s home where the bride worked as the activities coordinator. Miranda had personally invited all of the ladies at the home and had even taken them to Austin on a shopping trip so they could all buy something special to wear on her big day. She’d also promised to take a picture with each and every one of them, which was why Gladys was waiting in line.
Travis tipped his hat and grinned. “I hate to trouble you, ma’am, but I need to scoot by you and have a quick word with the groom if you don’t mind.”
She looked as if she wanted to protest, but then Travis stared deep into her eyes for a long moment and acceptance sparked. She smiled. “Of course, dear.”
She started to move, but then an ancient little man with a bald head and a mean expression stepped in front of her and broke the temporary spell Travis had cast.
“Hold your britches there, sonny.” Arbor Crabtree poked Travis in the chest with a bony finger. “We all want our picture taken with Miranda and we’re not about to be sideswiped by some young buck who cain’t wait his turn. You’ll get back to the end of the line lickety-split if you know what’s good for you.”
While Travis’s charm worked with the females, he was out of luck when it came to men. Particularly Arbor. He was a two-time decorated war veteran who’d carved up an enemy sniper with his witling knife in a one-on-one battle back in 1942. He still had the knife to this day, carrying it in his pocket for bragging rights.
He also had a hemorrhoid that was making him even crankier than the fact that he’d lost at checkers to Milton Decker earlier that afternoon.
The point? Arbor was not about to be crossed by man or vampire.
Travis held up his hands in surrender. “I’m not trying to put any one out, sir. I’ve just come a long way is all.”
“So did I. Do you know how far away we had to park? Why, this place is busier than the Dairy Queen on senior citizen night.”
“They give free ice cream to anyone over sixty-five,” one of the women added.
“And whipped cream.”
“That sounds real nice,” Travis said. “But I just need to talk to my—“
“Is there a problem here?” The soft, feminine voice slid into his ear and cut him off mid-sentence. He turned toward the female who appeared on his left, her hands on her hips, her blue eyes drilling into him.
She was at least a head shorter than he was, with long, blond hair that had been swept up into a tight, no frills ponytail. She wore a knee-length black skirt and a plain white button up blouse. Sensible black pumps. Boring.
That’s what he told himself. No legs up to here or breasts out to there.
At the same time, she had the most incredible eyes he’d ever seen. Pale blue with just a hint of green around the edges. Color so translucent that, for a split second, he saw only his own reflection in their sparkling depths.
No thoughts. None of her personal stats. Nothing. Not even her name.
Before Travis could delve deeper, she shifted her attention to the old man.
“What’s going on, Mr. Crabtree?”
“This whippersnapper is trying to cut in line,” the man declared. “But Miranda promised me I could have the first picture. I cain’t stand for long without my arthritis acting up.”
“Mine, too,” a woman added. “I’ve got seconds.”
“And I’ve got a corn on my big toe that’s aching something fierce so I get to go third.”
The pale blue eyes darkened just a hint, killing the reflection that had him so mesmerized and opening the door so that he could see straight into her thoughts.
Her name was Holly Simms. Mid-twenties. She was a wedding planner who loved dogs, Reeses’ Peanut Butter cups and her job. Except when she had to deal with stubborn guests or a lying, cheating, line-cutting cowboy.
Ouch. “I wasn’t trying to cut in front of anyone.” He shrugged. “I’m just here to talk to the groom.”
“And we’re here to talk to the bride,” Arbor added. “She promised us pictures and I’m not moving ‘til I get my picture.”
“Me either,” a woman added.
“Neither am I.”
“You’ll all get your pictures. I promise.” Holly turned on Travis. “Excuse me? What did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t say, but it’s Travis. Travis Braddock.”
When her gaze sparked, he added, “I’m the groom’s brother.”
Her mind seemed to rifle for a memory before recognition dawned and she frowned. “The one who didn’t RSVP?”
“My job keeps me really busy.”
Too busy for your own brother’s wedding?
The question rang loud and clear in her thoughts and guilt niggled at him.
“We’re not very close.” He wasn’t sure why he told her. The words simply tumbled from his lips before he could stop them and he stiffened. “Listen, I don’t want to cause any trouble. I just wanted to say a few words to my brother.”
“He and Miranda are going to host a receiving line when they’re finished with pictures. I’m sure you can wish him well then. In the meantime, you should move on to the reception area.” Otherwise these seniors are going to kick your firm, tight, totally amazing buns all over this ranch and I’m going to let them.
Her thought echoed through his head and a strange sense of warmth stole through him. A grin tugged at his lips.
She motioned toward the massive tents set up just beyond the barn. “You can have something to drink and a bite to eat while you’re waiting.”
His groin tightened at the suggestion and his gaze shifted to her creamy white throat. He could see the faint pulse beneath her skin and his fangs tingled.
“There’s a full menu,” she continued. “Swedish meatballs. Pigs-in-a-blanket. Mini chimichangas. Southwest egg rolls. I’m sure you can find something you like.”
“I already have,” he said, staring deep into her eyes.
He expected to see passion flare in the blue depths, her lips to part, her body to lean toward his. Particularly since she thought his buns were firm and tight and totally amazing. That’s the way it always was when he focused his complete attention on a woman. She couldn’t help but fall under his spell.
Her eyes widened and then she blinked. Once. Twice. As if she couldn’t quite believe she’d heard him correctly. “What did you just say?”
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