Page 1 of Any Cowboy of Mine
CHAPTER ONE
The Invitation
The farmhouse wasdark and quiet. No one else was up yet, not even the sun, but still the walls ached and moaned. Brad Connors leaned against the kitchen counter and gazed out the east window, to the thin, pink line that laced the horizon.
Anything to avoid looking at the gold-lined envelope on his right.
Though it was the coldest day of the year so far, steam rose and fell from the fields of his parents’ 200-year-old farm, undulating over the hills like a blanket draped over freshly laundered sheets. Montana sure knew how to do nature right.
There wasn’t a shadow of a doubt that he was a better man because of his childhood spent on these acres born of sweat, muscle, forbearance, and a communion with nature and her husband, the land. Though he no longer had to do the work himself, he reveled in the darkness of early mornings where he could walk the property line, just him and Penske, his folks’ farm mutt. Most days he found himself conversing with his novels’ cast of characters, the open land a catalyst for his best ideas.
Now, though, he sat at his kitchen counter with his latest novel pushed to the far recesses of his mind, the mail from yesterday spread before him in piles—bills in one, junk mail torn into shreds and bound for recycling in another, and some early holiday cards in the last. He tried like hell to ignore the one envelope set apart from the rest, but like a bad penny, it kept rudely announcing its arrival.
It just didn’t fit in.
He wondered what the hell to do with the Christmas cards. So many of them were fromtheirfriends, the couples he and Julia had made through their relationship—many with kids and families they’d built over the past decade. And it’s not like he had anywhere to hang them now that he’d moved out of his and Julia’s place.
I didn’t think I’d be alone at Christmas.
Had it already been eight months? Eight long months since he’d been thrown from the path of early Christmas cards and in-laws and kids of his own back into the land of the bachelors.
If he were being honest though, sometimes it felt like it all just happened yesterday, especially as he held the one piece of mail that wouldn’t fit in any of the piles, unable to ignore it any longer.
It was white with perfect gold calligraphy on the front, addressed to him and a guest. He knew the return address by heart since it used to be his. Had his folks seen the envelope? He gave only a slight pause to consider whether they had received one as well.
He sipped tentatively at his hot, black coffee.
The warmth transferred from the cup to his chilled palm, traveling up his arm and warming his core, but still the cold surged in around him, a liability of winter in an outdated farmhouse he’d long grown accustomed to. Knowing better, he took a sip, his tongue scorched for his efforts. Those first few sips—what he was able to get down right after pouring a cup of strong joe from the pot—were what really got him going. Nothing woke him up like burning the crap out of his mouth first thing. Julia used to scold him, tell him to wait till it cooled off, but he liked the heat.
Maybe that’s why they hadn’t worked out—no more flames to singe him.
Brad tore open the envelope, somehow still shocked she’d had the gall to send it. Did Chris know? They must have agreed on the guest list together. As the light in his kitchen glinted off the gold lettering, a strange sensation bubbled up in his throat. He wasn’t sure if he would erupt into laughter or sobs. He felt like doing both.
Truthfully, he’d been subconsciously looking out for the invitation in the mail for the last month. When the gossip train had finally reached him, filling him in on all the gory details of the engagement, he’d known this day would come. To some degree, he couldn’t imagine one of the three of them getting married without them all being there, but he never, not in a million years, figured it would be under these circumstances.
And though he couldn’t imagine missing the wedding, he also, with equal passion, couldn’t imagine circumstances where he would dare go. He was effed either way.
Dammit.He looked at his watch. This would have to wait until after work. He left the invitation opened and unread but it didn’t stay far from his thoughts.
The whole drive into work, Brad made a mental list of the pros and cons of going to the wedding. One of the biggest pros would be putting Julia behind him, finally. That, and seeing all his old college buddies again. His parents would probably go, so he had them to keep him company, and of course, there was the open bar he knew Chris would splurge for.
That led right into the cons of going. An open bar, his ex-girlfriend of fifteen years marrying his former best friend…Yikes.Not to mention every other person there wondering what Brad might do or say with a few beers in him—including the paparazzi that seemed to follow Brad everywhere he went since his latest novel won an Edgar Award and the film rights to his first three books in his series were sold to a prominent Hollywood production company at the same time. Yeah, that probably wasn’t a recipe for a good time. Add to everything that they were getting married on Christmas Eve.
Christmas freaking Eve.
He didn’t need to read the invitation to know that much. His sister, Paige, had called him at their parents’ home a week ago, asked if he was sitting down. When he’d lied and told her yes, he was, she’d filled him in on everything she’d heard from Chris’s sister. Really, he’d been drilling some ?” screws into two 2x4 boards to make the frame for a coffee table. Since Paige’s friend Aurelie had taken all her furniture when she’d moved a few months prior, he’d been slowly adding to the sparsely decorated garage apartment with his own creations.
Paige’s wedding date announcement caused his hand to slip, and he’d sliced his thumb with the electric drill.
“Jesus!” he’d shouted. He’d hung up on her without waiting for a reply, and now, a week later, his thumb still not healed, he realized he never called her back.
Truthfully, after he’d hung up with his sister, he hadn’t thought much about Julia, Chris, or their wedding day until that morning’s mail. Typical. Julia always had a way of making things about her. Now his Christmas, whether or not he went to her wedding, would be hijacked by her as well.
Just like in college, she seemed to have a sixth sense he was thinking about her, and his phone rang, silencing his loud music. The screen in his truck showed, “Jules—DO NOT ANSWER!” in the caller ID spot. He ignored his self-imposed warning and hit the green “Answer” button.
“Jules,” he said, sounding much more enthusiastic than he’d meant, “I was just thinking about you.”
“Oh yeah?” Her voice had a higher pitch than her usual whine. That gave him a distinct sense of satisfaction he wasn’t necessarily proud of.
