A Maverick To (Re)Marry

He chuckled. “It depends. Is it working?”

She was not going to smile at him. He didn’t deserve it. Not yet, anyway. “Hmm. Depends on what’s in the picnic.”

“You’ll be relieved to know I stopped by the main house for the food. I have my mom’s fried chicken and biscuits all fancy in a basket. I even brought a big blanket to sit on.”

“All of a sudden, I’m starving.”

“And there’s apple pie, too.”

She kind of wanted to hold out against him, leave him hanging at least a bit longer. But then her stomach betrayed her with a hungry little growl. His grin said he heard it. At that point, what could she do but give in? “All right. A picnic, then—but I think we’ll need to eat inside.” She stared out at the darkening sky. “It’s almost nighttime. I’m not sure I want to stumble around in the dark looking for somewhere to spread a picnic blanket.”

He leaned closer. “Go in and get a sweater. It’s getting chilly out.”

“But—”

“Shh.” His warm breath tickled her ear. “It just so happens I also brought a lantern.”

* * *

Two hours later, they sat under the stars with the lantern turned down low providing a soft circle of light to push back the shadows.

By then, they’d agreed on the games for the party: a modified version of The Newlywed Game, which they’d dubbed “The Nearly Newlywed Game.” Also, they planned a scavenger hunt and some random betting and gambling games in a Western-themed, mini-casino setup. They’d made lists of all the things they would need to buy and assemble for each activity, and he’d been fine with her ideas for the decorations.

Tomorrow, she would shop online, making sure to get expedited shipping. Monday, she would drive to Kalispell and try to buy what she hadn’t found online. Monday evening, they would meet again and decide how to find or make whatever items they still needed.

Amy grabbed the sweater she’d brought from the house and stuck her arms in the sleeves for warmth against the nighttime chill. “We should probably talk about the cost of all this.”

“It’s not a problem. I’ll pay you back for anything you have to buy.”

“Derek, come on. It’s a lot more than the decorations and games. I totally intend to pay for that stuff myself. But there’s still food and drinks. And what about the venue and the music?”

“It’s covered,” he said.

“Covered?” She couldn’t help scoffing. “All of it?”

He shrugged. “I told you that Nate Crawford offered the Manor. And he offered it at a deep discount, believe me. Just about everyone in town will be there and that’s good PR for the Manor. There’ll be plenty of finger food. As for alcohol, Hudson is footing the bill for the champagne and soft drinks.” Hudson Jones, a very wealthy man, was Bella Stockton’s husband. “I promise I’m good for whatever the final bill amounts to.” And then he laughed. “Don’t look so worried. I’m not the same broke-ass cowboy you used to know.”

“I’m not worried. Really.”

“Oh, yeah, you are. But you don’t need to be. I’m doing all right. You remember Collin Traub?”

“Of course.” Collin had been in their graduating class. “Eva told me that Collin married Willa Christensen.” Willa was younger. She’d graduated a few years after them. “Eva also mentioned that Collin’s the mayor now. But what has Collin Traub got to do with how we plan to split up the cost of the bachelor party?”

“Collin’s uncle Casper had a saddle-making business, which Collin inherited when Casper passed on. I hooked up with Collin a while back. Besides working the family ranch, I make saddles and a variety of fine leather goods. I’ve kind of built a name for myself—and earned some good money, too.”

Leatherwork. He’d always had a talent for that. He used to make pretty beaded leather jewelry for her. And for her eighteenth birthday, he’d made her a leather vest and a fringed skirt. She’d loved them and worn them proudly. Still had them, too, tucked in the back of her closet.

Because she never could quite bear to get rid of them.

“We have a shop on Sawmill Street, at North Broomtail Road,” he said.

“CT Saddles, right?”

“That’s it.”

“I drove by it the other day. And I’m glad that you’re doing so well—but, Derek, I want to pitch in, too. I am the maid of honor, after all, and I should pay half.”

He looked at her for a long time. She felt the sudden presence of the past—their past—rising up in the darkness between them.

What had he said?

I’m not the same broke-ass cowboy you used to know.

It wasn’t that he came from a poor family. The Daltons had been ranching in the Rust Creek Falls Valley for generations and his dad was a leader in the community, a lawyer with an office in town. Still, back in high school, Derek hadn’t had much, not in terms of cash in hand. When they ran away to Kalispell, he’d bought her a simulated diamond ring for forty dollars at Walmart.

She’d thrown it at him the day he told her to get her stuff and go with her dad. Where was that ring now? What had he done with it?

Not that she’d ever ask.

“Okay then,” the grown-up Derek said. “We’ll go fifty-fifty on the final bill.”

“Perfect. Thank you. Now, let me see...” She woke her phone, punched up the party file again and brought up the dual lists of what had to be bought and what would need to be made or otherwise assembled.

“How we doin’?” he asked.

She gave him a nod. “Really well, actually.”

“You feel like we’re getting somewhere with this party, then?”

“I do. And I think we’re pretty much set for now.”

Their non-date was almost over.

And somehow, they’d managed to steer clear of the past—mostly, anyway.

All good, she told herself. It was the past, after all, over and done, and they didn’t need to go there.

But then he stretched out on his back, laced his hands beneath his head and stared up at the wide indigo sky. “Lots of stars out tonight, Miss Wainwright.”

Miss Wainwright.

Their private joke. He’d called her that in their first tutoring session and it had stuck.

“Yes, Miss Wainwright,” he would tease her.

“Whatever you say, Miss Wainwright.”

“Miss Wainwright, you’re the boss.”