CHAPTER ONE

      WHEN MANDY ALLEN planned her sister’s perfect wedding, she never imagined crying alone in their ranch house kitchen with only the wedding cake for company. But those were definitely tears sliding down her cheeks. And if they didn’t stop soon, mascara would stripe her face like a zebra’s. Mandy dabbed her eyes with the hem of her apron, appalled by the black smudges. Self-pity never looked good on anyone.

      The problem wasn’t the cake. That was her masterpiece, despite the anxiety that had almost kept her from finishing it. Anxiety that crackled and fizzed like a bad-reception radio set to her own personal self-doubt channel, reminding her that she’d never done this kind of baking before. What if it was a disaster? What if it tasted terrible? What if it looked terrible?

      But thankfully, her anxiety was unfounded. The cake wasn’t terrible. In fact, it was beautiful. The three tiers, cream colored and painted with chocolate icing, delicately detailed scenes of horses, cattle, even the high Sierra peaks that rose behind their ranch.

      The problem wasn’t the wedding, either. The old barn looked magical decorated with garlands and fairy lights. The guests had just finished Mandy’s specially seasoned barbecue with all the fixings. Now they were drinking, dancing, whooping it up.

      Nor was the problem seeing her dad for the first time in over a year, with his new wife on his arm, relaxed and happy with his life under the Florida sun.

      The problem was that everything around her was changing. Everyone was changing. Everyone except Mandy. She was as stuck as a truck in a high desert wash. Lost. Mired. And she had no idea how to dig herself out and get moving again.

      The chime of the hall clock sliced through thoughts as sticky as bread dough. She had to get the cake to the reception. There’d be plenty of time after the guests had gone home to stuff her head in the pity pot.

      She picked up the tiny fondant cowboy boots she’d made, pink for Lori and brown for Wade. Placing the boots on top of the cake, she tilted them so they leaned on each other. Perfect, for the perfect couple.

      She grabbed her camera and snapped a few pictures. With luck, photos of this cake would convince other couples to hire her to bake their wedding cakes.

      And then it hit her. In her stress over the cake, she’d forgotten how big it was. And how heavy. How would she get it to the barn?

      Her anxiety switched back on, hissing and popping in waves that rolled right through her stomach. Why had she assembled the cake here? She should have taken it to the reception in separate layers. Why hadn’t she thought this through more carefully?

      But the cake was finished, looking elegant on Mama’s old silver tray, so there was no going back. Stop worrying. It’s just a cake. Don’t be scared about carrying a cake.

      She yanked off her apron. Smoothed down the skirt of her bridesmaid dress. Slid the tray to the edge of the table.

      Nothing on the cake even jiggled. It was rock solid. She lifted the tray and baby stepped to the screen door, pushing it open with her hip. A few more steps and she was through the door and down the porch stairs. The hard part was done.

      Mandy started down the packed-dirt road that led to the barn. No problem. Like walking on a sidewalk. She imagined Lori’s face when she saw the cake. Her wedding-day smile would grow even bigger.

      The sharp snick of breaking branches froze Mandy’s limbs. It seemed to come from a thicket of scrubby willows about fifty yards ahead of her. A bear? Not today. Not now when she was all alone carrying a massive hunk of sugar, a bear’s favorite treat. The shrub shook, there was a crackling noise, and Mandy’s heart just about stopped when something burst out of the thick tangle.

      Not a bear, thank goodness, but a miniature donkey that shook its head and looked around. It was gray and fuzzy and it didn’t belong here. It must be another stray. People were always dumping their unwanted animals on her doorstep. Her heart kicked up a beat.

      The donkey spotted her, long ears flicking forward. Mandy made her voice as stern as she could. “Shoo!”

      It obviously didn’t know the meaning of the word, because it broke into a toy-pony gallop, heading straight toward her. It looked so happy, but Mandy’s heart shifted into overdrive. “Shoo!”

      The donkey sped up. Mandy swiftly stepped back and to the side of the lane, lifting the tray chest-high. It would be okay. The donkey was going to miss her...

      But the donkey slammed against her hip as it careened by, spinning Mandy around in a staggering circle. She clutched the tray in desperation as it tilted and teetered.

      “Hang on!” A man’s voice broke through her grasping panic. She caught a glimpse of him, sprinting from the direction of the house. In a split second he was there, reaching to catch her fall.

      “Not me!” she managed. “The cake!”

      Hands shot out. “Let go! I’ve got it!”

      She opened her fingers and surrendered to fate and gravity, pitching backward, landing hard, butt, shoulders, head, all hitting the dirt before she rolled once. Stomach to the ground, cheek in the dust, she stared one-eyed at the grass by the lane and the bright October sky beyond. Ouch.

      “Are you all right?”

      The urgency in the man’s voice had her automatically reassuring him. “I’m okay. Scraped, but okay.” Then her mind lurched from survival to reality. The man. The cake. Oh, God, the cake! She closed her eyes, afraid to look. Her sister’s wedding cake. Smashed in the dirt.

      “Your cake is okay, too.”

      His words were small pieces of a miracle. How was it even possible? Mandy pushed herself up to sitting, every part of her stiff, shaky and stinging.

      The dark-haired man was on one knee, as if he was about to propose. And in his arms, perfectly upright, perfectly intact, was her perfect cake.

      Mandy stared at him, wondering if she’d fallen right into some kind of fairy tale. Because only in stories did someone this handsome show up out of nowhere and save the day. He even had the wavy black hair of a fairy-tale prince.

      Holy cow, she was staring at him like a possum at a flashlight. She scrambled to her feet, brushing at her hands and elbows, trying to ignore all the throbbing and stinging. “Thank you!” Her throat was pebbled with gratitude, tumbling the words out ragged as she leaned over and lifted the tray from his outstretched hands. “I can’t believe you saved it!”

      “My pleasure.” He rose from the dirt. And rose. And rose. There had to be over six feet of him.

      “It