The Rancher's Christmas Bride. Brenda Minton

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      “I’m his granddaughter.”

      He had pulled onto the road so he shot her a quick look. “Seriously? I mean, not that you can’t be. But I didn’t know Dan even had a granddaughter.”

      “He hasn’t seen my mom since she was a little girl. I tried to get him to come to the wedding...” She let the words trail off as her gaze slid to the window. A delicate finger brushed across her cheek.

      Tears. He’d never been good with tears. He had two sisters and fortunately neither of them was the type to cry. The Palermo siblings had learned the hard way that tears didn’t help. In fact, sometimes tears made it worse.

      His dad hadn’t invented the warning “Do you want me to give you something to cry about?” but he’d definitely put action to the words. He’d put the words into action the night he’d locked Lucy in the tack room of their barn. He had put the words into action the night he’d punched Marcus in the throat. They’d all learned not to cry and they’d learned not to tell.

      But that had nothing to do with now and the lady sitting beside him wanting a ride to Dan’s.

      “None of my business, but does Dan know you’re coming? I don’t think he’d take kindly to a surprise family reunion.”

      From the look on her face, a grim mixture of worry and sadness, she wasn’t amused by his poor attempt at humor. Some things just weren’t that funny. And a bride that was walking down a back road, still in her wedding dress, pretending a shoe was a weapon? He guessed she’d had a pretty rough day.

      The road was bumpy, but as they bounced along he managed to open the glove compartment and pull out a box of tissues.

      “I’m not going to cry,” she insisted. But a few tears trickled down her cheeks.

      “I guess I don’t have a right to ask what happened. But if you need to talk, I’m all ears.” He glanced in the mirror. “Seriously, have you ever seen ears this big?”

      She glanced at him and burst into watery laughter, shaking her head as she surveyed his ears.

      “They aren’t that big,” she countered. At least he’d made her laugh. He’d always been good for a laugh. And not much more.

      “He picked the caterer,” she said quietly into the darkened interior of the truck. Her voice was soft, kind of sweet.

      The windshield wipers clicked as they swept back and forth, and Chris LeDoux was singing “Cadillac Ranch.” Alex cleared his throat and shot her another quick look.

      “Who picked the caterer? You mean you let him decide what to feed the guests and you’re upset about that? I think you’d need a bigger reason to walk out on a wedding.”

      She shook her head vehemently. “No, he picked the caterer.”

      He pulled to the side of the road because he couldn’t focus on the road and a conversation that seemed important. She fingered the sleeve of the jean jacket and her gaze slid to the window.

      “He picked the caterer,” she said with meaning. “Not the chicken or the beef—the caterer. He picked her. Over me.”

      She pinched the bridge of her nose, closed her eyes and breathed. The tears disappeared but they’d left streaks down her cheeks. They’d left marks, the way this wedding would leave marks, he knew with certainty.

      Another reason he was single and planned to stay that way. People had a tendency to hurt one another. His dad had hurt everyone in his path. His mom had walked out on her own children.

      He shifted and pulled back onto the road, trying to find the right thing to say. A few minutes later he drove into Dan Wilson’s driveway.

      “I’m sorry,” he told her, knowing his apology wasn’t the one that mattered. She’d been left at the altar by the man she had planned to spend her life with. He could tell her hard lessons about being let down by people who should have cared, but she didn’t need to hear it from him.

      He’d let down people, too. He’d let down his siblings. He’d let down his best friend. He guessed he’d let down himself a few times, too. That made him the last person who could really help the woman sitting next to him in the dim light of his truck. He reached to turn down the radio and told himself it didn’t mean a thing. This moment would pass, like so many moments in his life. For these few minutes, though, maybe he could be her hero, the person she could count on.

      “He was a fool. If he picked the caterer, he didn’t deserve you.” He parked next to Dan’s old farm truck.

      She leaned across the truck in a rustle of white satin and lace and kissed his cheek. “Thank you. I don’t even know your name, but thank you.”

      He held out his hand. “Alex Palermo, at your service.”

      She took his hand and again he was surprised by the way it felt, as if he should cherish the moment a little longer. “Marissa Walker.”

      The rain was steady now and the light of early evening had given way to darkness. She peered through the windshield and frowned. “Is that my grandfather’s home?”

      Alex glanced away from the bride sitting next to him and nodded as he looked at the little camper, hay bales stacked underneath to keep out the winter wind. “That’s Dan’s place.”

      “He lives in a camper?”

      “For as long as I’ve known him. He’s always been ornery and he’s always lived in this camper. Don’t let it fool you. He’s one of the best horse trainers in the country and he raises some mighty fine Angus cattle.”

      A gunshot split the night, ending the conversation. The woman sitting next to him screamed. “He’s shooting at us!”

      “Nah,” he said with a grin. “He’s just warning us to get off his land.”

      * * *

      Marissa couldn’t help it; she cowered in the seat, close to the cowboy. He was a stranger, but at the moment he was the only thing she had to hold on to. The day was catching up with her. She’d been awake since sunrise, because it was her wedding day and there’d been so much to get done. And then she’d stood in the dressing room of the wedding venue waiting for Aidan. And waiting. Until he sent the text that he was on his way to Hawaii. With Linda, the caterer. Unable to face her family and friends, she’d taken off with the limousine, leaving her mom a note that she needed time.

      The limousine had broken down and the driver had told her he was done. The tow truck would take him back to the city and she was on her own unless she wanted to go to Austin.

      And now this. Her grandfather was a madman with a gun.

      The cowboy sitting next to her rolled down his window and leaned out. “Dan, stop shooting. You’re a little shaky these days and you might accidentally shoot someone.”

      “Is that you, Alex?”

      “Yeah, it’s me. And you don’t usually shoot at me when I pull up.”

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