His Perfect Bride: Hired by the Cowboy / Wedding Bells at Wandering Creek / Coming Home to the Cattleman. Judy Christenberry
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while Connor finished his meal, and then, clearing his plate, she took a breath. She had to be a grownup and do this. And do it now before she lost her nerve.
“I think we should talk.”
He stilled, wary, and Alex’s nerves twisted and turned as everything she’d planned to say went rushing out of her head completely.
“Talk about what?”
She put his dishes in the dishwasher, keeping her back towards him. Coward, she grumbled to herself. She had to do this. She was an adult. Difficult conversations had to be faced.
“About us. About what’s going to happen tomorrow.”
“I see.”
She turned, facing him, but his expression was flat and completely closed off, and she wasn’t sure how to proceed. “Please, Connor. I can’t pretend that tomorrow is what it will look like.”
“I can’t either.”
His words left her feeling strangely empty. She shouldn’t want him to mean his vows, but somehow she did. It was wrong, and misguided, but she would admit only to herself that she had feelings for Connor. Deep feelings. Feelings he surely didn’t reciprocate, so she’d do the right thing here.
“Our vows tomorrow…they’re the forever kind.” She sat in the chair next to him, resting her hands in her lap, the backs pressed together between her knees. “We both know that forever isn’t what this is about.” No matter what my traitorous heart is saying right at this moment. “But I think we should make promises. To each other, tonight, about what we can expect over the next several months.”
“You mean temporary vows?”
“Yes,” she breathed with relief, glad he understood what she was getting at.
He sighed, and she resisted the urge to reach up and tuck that errant piece of hair behind his ear, the one that always seemed determined to curl. His eyes searched her face, and she knew that she would never be able to resist him when he looked at her that way.
“This means a lot to you, doesn’t it?”
She nodded. “Tomorrow…we’ll just be making empty promises. I’m not comfortable with that. Because there are things I want to promise you. Truly.”
Trembling, she reached out and took his workworn hand in hers. “I promise you, Connor, that for the time we’re married I will do all I can to make your life easier, not harder. I’ll try my best to look after the beautiful home you’ve entrusted me with, and—” she smiled faintly “—I’ll try not to poison you with my bad cooking. I’ll be a friend to you, and a comfort, if you’ll let me. I’ll help you in any way I can. You’ve only to ask. Those are the promises I can make to you.”
Oh, his eyes. So warm, with compassion and understanding and with an edge of something she didn’t quite comprehend. He covered her hand with his own and squeezed. “I have promises to make to you, too,” he said softly. “Look at me, Alex,” he commanded, when she dropped her eyes.
She met his gaze and was caught, unable to look away.
“I promise, Alex, to provide for you, and the baby you’re carrying, for as long as you need. I promise to share my home with you, so that it’s your home too, because you’ve been without one for so long. I promise that I won’t be the one to hurt you, not when you’ve been hurt already. I will be your friend and your comfort, if you’ll let me.” His voice dropped, an intimate whisper as he repeated her own words back to her. “I’ll help you in any way I can. You’ve only to ask. Those are the promises I can make to you.”
Her eyes filled, shining with unshed tears at his words. He meant them. She knew it. And for her they were more romantic than any flowery vows from a book could ever be. Somehow this handsome man—still so much a stranger— knew exactly what she needed and was willing to give it to her, wholeheartedly, unreservedly.
In that shining moment she knew another truth that would make tomorrow even harder.
She was falling in love with Connor Madsen.
“Alex? Are you OK?”
Her eyes had closed against the brief shaft of bittersweet pain that pierced her as she realized the one man she couldn’t have was the one she was falling head over heels in love with. Swallowing, she pushed back her chair and broke their hand clasp. “I’m fine. I’m just tired,” she explained, avoiding the skeptical look that raised his eyebrows with doubt. “I think I’ll get ready for bed. There’s a lot to do tomorrow.”
She avoided looking at him, knowing her abrupt change of mood had to be confusing.
“Mike’s looking after the chores tomorrow. There’s no need for either of us to get up at daybreak,” he offered. “You should sleep in. Get your beauty rest.”
“Thanks. For…for everything. Goodnight, Connor.”
She fled before he saw the tears that glistened on her cheeks.
THE wedding day dawned clear, with a light blue sky sparsely dotted with fluffy white clouds. Alex woke at six. She’d retired early the night before but, instead of taking advantage, she knew she had to get up and help Johanna get things ready before she dressed in her gown.
Quietly she slipped from her room and down the hall to the bathroom. She wanted to avoid Connor at all costs this morning. It had nothing to do with it being bad luck to see the bride, but more about keeping a level head. It would be all too easy to let the romance of the day sweep her away. What she needed to do was make sure everything was in readiness for the guests. Make it seem real. She ran hot water and washed her face and brushed her teeth before tiptoeing back to her room to get dressed.
Connor heard her shuffling about. He’d been awake since four, but had stayed beneath the sheets, thinking. It had nothing to do with habit and everything to do with getting married today. Getting married to Alex.
He remembered the promises she’d made him. She tried hard, he could see that. She wanted to make things right for him, and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why. What made him so special? He was nothing more than a rancher trying to keep afloat.
Her eyes had held a suspicious sheen last night, and he’d thought for a moment or two that she was going to cry. But not Alex. He saw now she was strong, practical. The kind of woman who would face whatever needed facing without histrionics and tissues. The more he knew her, the more he respected her. And the more he found himself daydreaming about her prairie sky-blue eyes and the dark waterfall of her hair.
He swung out of bed, hurriedly pulling on a pair of faded jeans. There was something he needed to take care of—something that had kept him awake in the pale, sun-washed hours of dawn.
He heard her footsteps echo softly to the bathroom down the hall, and he slipped into her room to wait.
When she came back, his heart stopped at the sight she made. She halted her footsteps in surprise, seeing him sitting on the rumpled coverlet of the bed. In no more than a second he saw her tousled hair falling over her shoulders, the pristine white pajama set, which accented the fullness of her breasts and the growing bump at her midsection, and which ended mid-thigh, revealing shapely legs and pretty, dainty feet. The sight of her, fresh from her still-warm bed, made his heart stop.
“G…Good morning,” she stuttered in surprise.
At her appearance, he rose, wiping his palms against the thighs of his jeans nervously. “I heard you get up. I hope that’s OK?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“You’re the one standing in the doorway like you’re afraid to come in any further.”
She was afraid. Thoughts of Connor