Page 2 of The Cowboy Takes A Bride

Meredith Hanover, that was who.

Oh, sure, she wanted to help, just as much as the rest of them. She was not even remotely that black-hearted. She ratherliked the idea of being present when the kids got their gifts. That would be far lovelier than these sterile, extravagant money-wasting banquets. She’d done her share last year, her first year with the charity. She’d done so well she’d exceeded the established goal by an additional eighty thousand dollars. Her colleagues, a term she used loosely since they were her mother’s friends, had closed the event with a stunning gala and awarded Meredith Woman of the Year. Something her mother had also achieved during her short life before her unexpected death. Meredith had come away from the event with additional pressure from her father, her first migraine, and never seeing the face of one kid who would benefit.

Crumbling the paper, Meredith dropped it in the toilet and flushed.

“I’m an awful person,” she mumbled, rubbing her temples, and squinting as she watched the crumbled ball swirl around the bowl before disappearing.

“I highly doubt that,” said the person in the stall next to her.

Meredith hadn’t heard anyone come into the ladies’ room. She knew she should apologize but said instead, “It’s true.”

Ducking her head to rest against the cold metal of the stall, she closed her eyes once more and gave a fruitless effort to mentally bat away the pain. The headache was in full bloom.

“I’ve known you a long time, Meredith Hanover, and being a horrible person is never a phrase that’s associated with your name. Ever. Quite the opposite, actually.”

Meredith tried to place the voice, but as the throbbing increased, her awareness decreased. “That’s because I have you all fooled. The thought of helping orphaned children has sent me to the restroom hiding.” Never mind Brady's wandering hands.

“Funny, it did the same to me as well. Perhaps it’s because we, in our own way, are orphans ourselves.”

Curiosity getting the best of her, Meredith slid along the wallof the stall until she came to the door and turned the latch, releasing it. Stepping back, she let it slowly swing open while she lifted her arm to shade her eyes. She searched the room for the woman who was speaking.

“Migraine?”

The lights dimmed, she assumed by the other woman in the room, and Meredith took in her first steady breath of relief. “Yes.”

“Come sit.”

She felt a hand gently take her elbow and guide her to a plush bench in the waiting room of the ladies’ restroom. Because, even here, at the Museum of Fine Art, women needed a place to gossip privately. Many deals were made while lipstick was being reapplied and hair resprayed.

“Thank you.” She leaned back against the bench and slowly moved her arm to her side. The lack of direct light was a relief of the highest degree. The only thing that would be better would be to fall into bed and sleep it off.

Through squinty eyes, she stared up at her benefactress. “Sabrina Holloway?” She knew of the woman more than she knew the actual person, though her mom had spoken kindly of her since they’d served on many boards together.

Sabrina eased down next to her. “It’s been a while since our paths crossed. These days I think the only event we chair together is the fundraiser for the Veteran’s home.”

“That had been my mom’s favorite.” Meredith forced herself to think of something other than her mother or else she’d likely break down in tears. With pain akin to that of the migraine, each trip down memory lane was powerfully heavy with remorse and laced with what-ifs. But was the grass ever greener? Entertaining those fantasies was an awful endeavor that left her feeling more alone and hopeless than usual. She’d rather push back the sun than journey down the what-if path.

“Of all the vets, those old, cranky world-war vets are myfavorite as well. I could give every last charity up but that one.” Sabrina sighed. "It's harder seeing the young guys come in. And with no families."

"Heartbreaking even." She leaned her head against the wall, her eyes closed. “Do you ever get tired of it all Sabrina?”

“All the time. But I take a vacation or try something new—a hobby if you will—and reset. There are worse activities one can be engaged in.”

Meredith lifted one lid a smidge. “I’m not sure there is. At least for me there isn't. Making constant pleasantries is wearing.”

“You need to get away.” Sabrina sat next to her and held out her hand, palm up, presenting two small capsules. “Take these.” She held a cup of water in her other hand.

“Will they put me out of my misery?” Meredith mumbled before scooping up the pills.

“Temporarily, I hope. You really should think of taking some time away.”

Meredith’s nod was subtle, as motion tended to make her stomach roll. “The last time I got away was…eight years ago.” Man, she sounded pathetic. But it was hard to sound anything else when admitting the last time your family went on vacation was the trip when your mother died.

“Ah.” Sabrina didn’t need to offer anything further. She knew. Everyone knew really. Her mother was greatly missed. Meredith was a shallow replacement for a woman so beloved. It wasn’t that she hadn’t tried, but had her father not demanded she participate in every single charity situation imaginable that he felt would benefit him, had he not forced her into her mother’s social shoes, she might have found happiness in the work. But when every aspect of a person's life was controlled by another, Meredith was certain pleasure couldn't be found. At least she'd never come across it.

2

Sabrina Holloway knew how to read people. After all, she learned from an expert. Her daddy was a man whose easy manner and laid-back approach belied his scrutiny of others. It made him an envied poker player, not one to lose often, and when he did, they wondered if it was intentional. His honed skills gave him the foresight of impending trouble and the ability to see when she was about to tailspin into a personal crisis as she often did back then, as teens were prone to do.

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