The Braddock Boys: Travis. Kimberly Raye

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      A real, balls-to-the-bull cowboy.

      Her brain snagged on that all-important fact as she noted the worn tips of his black boots, the soft, molded jeans holding tight to his thighs, the smell of leather and fresh air that clung to him. She knew cowboys. She’d almost married one. But then her very own Mr. Tall, Dark & Irresistible had stood her up in front of God, the Skull Creek Cattleman’s Association and the entire Ladies Bingo club. The wedding had been called off and she’d been stuck with a six tier red velvet wedding cake to eat all by her lonesome.

      She’d gained ten pounds thanks to her low-down sneaky rat of an ex-fiancé and learned a valuable lesson. Namely, that she was more cut out to plan a wedding than actually participate in one.

      She’d spent the past three years as Skull Creek’s resident wedding planner. She’d orchestrated over one hundred ceremonies, overseeing everything from seating charts and bags of birdseed to sit down dinners and cages of live butterflies. She’d booked disc jockeys and ordered cakes and she’d even called in Marty and Serena, the 2010 Texas brisket cooking champions, to make an appearance at the Morgan reception last June. Marty and Serena had cooked all the food on-site over a live grill—much to the bride and groom’s delight—and handed out bottles of homemade Serena Sauce as wedding favors. The event had been a huge success and she’d even got a mention in the What’s Up Y’all? section of the Skull Creek Gazette. A huge coup that had doubled her business. Well, that and the fact that Eliza MacDonald, the eighty-eight-year-old owner of her only competition, From Courtin’ to Cuddlin', had needed a double hip replacement and been forced into retirement.

      Holly had been busy ever since, giving the couples of Skull Creek the happily-ever-after she, herself, would never have.

      Her great-aunt Tootie had tried to warn her.

      The old woman had always said there were only two types of women in the world. The kind who were doomed to settle down, get married and have babies and the lucky few who were actually meant to avoid all three and have some real fun. Tootie’s definition of fun involved lots of wild parties, single cowboys and plenty of one-night stands.

      The Simms women? They tended to fit into the second category. Aunt Tootie had avoided matrimony like the plague and spent her life sowing one wild oat after another. The few Simms women who tried to break with tradition and go the happily married route ended up divorced like Holly’s own mother (five times as a matter of fact) and her three aunts. Not one of Holly’s female relatives had ever had a long lasting relationship except Holly’s Aunt Celia, but that was with a pet poodle named Sassafrass.

      Bottom line, Holly simply wasn’t the marrying kind. She had a pre-determined path. One that didn’t involve his and her monogrammed towels.

      She knew that now. She’d accepted it. She’d even joined an online group of women committed to overcoming their addiction to falling in love. As a full-fledged Love Buster, Holly had given up her childhood dreams of wedded bliss and decided to focus on living out her most wild and wicked fantasies.

      But that was a little hard to do all by her lonesome.

      She was a wedding planner. Translation? She scared the bejesus out of every bachelor in town. They were convinced she only had marriage on her mind and so they all kept their distance. Since her moment of public humiliation at the altar, the only fun Holly had involved a case of batteries and a vibrator named Big Ben.

      Which meant that no way had she heard this hunk of testosterone correctly.

      She licked her lips and noticed the way his gaze followed the motion. Her stomach hollowed out and her heartbeat thundered in her ears.

      “Would you, um, mind repeating what you just—” she started to ask, but Evan chose that moment to rattle over her headset.

      “I hate to tell you this, but we’ve got a tiny little problemo with the PA system in the reception tent.”

      Evan Valentine was her twenty-six-year-old protégé and a die-hard romantic. He’d come to her last year after a hand full of various temp jobs and a six month online course on how to be a party planner. He was young, creative and hopelessly in love with his high school sweetheart, a once-upon-a-time quarterback named Bob.

      “I like—” the hunk of testosterone said, but he was drowned out when Evan jumped in. “I told you not to hire that DJ. Seriously, what sort of lunatic plays the Chicken Dance at a PETA event?”

      “Could you excuse me for just a sec,” she held up a quick finger to Hot and Hunky before turning to blurt into her headset, “What are you talking about?”

      “The disc jockey that yours truly told you not to hire is incompetent. His PA system doesn’t work. It’s completely dead and the natives are getting restless.”

      “And that’s a tiny problem?”

      “When you compare it to the fact that there are people starving in Third world countries, the ozone layer is slowly depleting and Bob’s parents refuse to include me in the family Christmas card. Not that I’m crying over it, mind you. I know that if I just hang in there, they’ll eventually see how hopelessly in love we are and welcome me into the family with open arms. Why, I bet they even ask me to pick the background for next year’s card …”

      Evan went on about red versus green while Holly tried to calm the sudden pounding of her heart. She stiffened, determined to ignore the fingers of heat dancing up and down her spine. She could feel Mr. Testosterone behind her, his gaze on her back.

      Watching.

      Waiting.

       Wanting.

      She ditched the last thought, gave her hormones a quick shake and tried to concentrate. “Where’s the DJ now?”

      “The last time I saw him he was running for the bathroom. He said he ate the enchilada special for lunch at the diner and now he’s regretting it.”

      Her heart jumped into her throat and she swallowed it back down. Easy. Calm. She’d been down this path before. Unexpected situations were par for the course when it came to wedding planning. The key was to keep her head and think. “Get him an Alka Seltzer and meet me in the reception tent.”

      “You think that’s going to help?”

      “It can’t hurt.” She clicked the off button and turned back to face the megalicious cowboy standing behind her. She would talk to him, get everything straight and if he truly had said what she thought he’d said, then maybe …

      The thought faded as she found herself staring at the empty spot where he’d been standing.

      Her gaze swept the crowd, but he was nowhere to be seen. Proof beyond a doubt that her imagination had kicked into overdrive thanks to her deprived hormones.

       I like you.

      Yeah, sure.

      She gave herself a great big mental shake, turned on her heel and went to find the MIA disc jockey.

      “I’M SURPRISED YOU had the balls to show up,” Brent said as he shoved Travis up against the backside of the barn.

      Travis blinked and stared at his younger brother. One minute СКАЧАТЬ