Page 15 of The Best Man Wins

“Hey.” I toy with a loose thread on the bedspread. “I think I’m spending the night at the ranch. Cora is feeling a little out of place…I think she could use the company.”

“Don’t worry about us, then. We’ll hold down the forte here.”

“Great. Thanks.”

There’s a drawn-out pause, and then Thom asks, “is everything okay?” Straight to the point. He can tell something’s up.

“Yeah…it’s fine.” I roll my ankle around in circles. “What do you think about the farmhouse?”

“Bloody disaster.”

“I know it’s not quite the picturesque farm we were looking for, but…we have enough pieces to make it work. All we need to do is find the right crew to pull it together.”

“I know that,” he says. “You know that. So why are you really calling?”

I twist a strand of blonde hair between my fingers. “Ace has been calling, and it’s just—”

“Susie,” he interrupts. “I’m going to stop you right there. Ignore him.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just—”

“Was it too early for Letty to give you an assignment? Because I can call her, if you’d like. Take it off your hands.”

Alarms go off in my head. “What? No! Not at all.”

“Then ignore him. The Daltons are a big account. Is it quick? Yes. Would most planners would collapse with the pressure of organizing a wedding in a week? Yes. But you’re not most planners. You’re Susie Posy.”

“I can handle it.” My resolve turns my internal organs into cold, hard steel. “You’re right. I’ve got this. I promise.”

“That’s my girl. Call me if there’s a real emergency.”

My phone beeps twice, alerting me that Thom has ended the call.

I needed a good, hard kick in the rear. And that does it.

I pop out of bed. There’s a dresser by the wall with a mirror over it, and I make sure my hair isn’t too frizzy from the plane before I make my way back downstairs.

Roxanne’s brassy voice rings out in the kitchen to the tune of utensils clicking and clanking. When I get downstairs, I can hear a second voice chime in: Ray’s.

“The plane ride took it out of her, that’s all,” he’s explaining.

“If you say so,” his mother chitters back at him.

I decide not to interrupt family time as the two make dinner. Instead, I make my way to the screen door and quietly start to slip out when—

“Escaping already?”

I whip around and see Braxton sitting straight-backed in one of the leather couches. He’s like a giant cat, always popping in when you least expect him. He has a laptop on his lap and a pair of reading glasses on his face.

The reading glasses are a surprise and, somehow, make him look even hotter.

No! No boys! Remember what Thom said…

“I’m going on a walk,” I say. “I want to get a good look at the property.”

Braxton closes his computer, puts his glasses aside, and rises suddenly. “I’m coming with you.”

I pout. “I don’t need a babysitter.” There’s that word again. Why does it seem everyone is intent on taking care of me, like I might rattle to pieces any second?

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