Rocky Mountain Legacy. Lois Richer
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“What’s your passion?” Sara asked.
Family. Cade longed for a circle of loved ones gathered around him. He wanted the hugs and tears, the teasing, the laughter, even the disagreements that happened between people who had confidence that no matter what, the ones who mattered would always be there for him.
His worst fear was that his sister would marry and want to live somewhere other than the ranch. That his dream of a family nearby would die. But as he smiled into Sara’s wide, glowing eyes, Cade knew he couldn’t say it. She wouldn’t understand why family was so important to him, not without hearing a lot of back history.
She was smiling at him. “I should warn you, Cade, that some of my ideas for wedding planning are usually, er, off the wall.”
He tucked a ringlet behind her ear. “It’s the off-the-wall ideas that usually turn out best, Sara Woodward,” he told her quietly.
LOIS RICHER
Lois Richer likes variety. From her time in human resources management to entrepreneurship, life has held plenty of surprises.
She says, “Having given up on fairy tales, I was happily involved in building a restaurant when a handsome prince walked into my life and upset all my career plans with a wedding ring. Motherhood quickly followed. I guess the seeds of my storytelling took root because of two small boys who kept demanding ‘Then what, Mom?’”
The miracle of God’s love for His children, the blessing of true love, the joy of sharing Him with others—that is a story that can be told a thousand ways and yet still be brand-new. Lois Richer intends to go right on telling it.
Rocky Mountain Legacy
Lois Richer
For I am persuaded beyond doubt that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things impending and threatening, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.
—Romans 8:38–39
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Questions for Discussion
Chapter One
“Catch us, Auntie Sara!”
Giggles overrode romantic flute music flowing from overhead speakers as Sara Woodward reached for, and missed, her two squirming nephews. Brett and Brady slipped past her and through a narrow door that led into the display windows of Weddings by Woodwards bridal shop.
A door Sara had left ajar.
“You’re not allowed in here, guys,” she whispered. She followed only after she’d checked to be sure none of the family was nearby. “Come out of there right now.”
But the mischievous pair would not emerge, and their impromptu game of tag was wreaking havoc with her grandmother’s bridal displays. Italian silk wasn’t meant for three-year-old boys with dirty sneakers.
Sara tried negotiation, to no avail.
Now what?
“If those two are someone’s ring bearers, you’ll have your hands full getting them down the aisle.”
Startled by the masculine voice behind her, Sara yelped and jerked upright. The back of her head bumped the arm of a groom mannequin, dislodging its top hat and cane. The brass-tipped ebony stick pinged against the display window with a clatter.
It seemed the entire building fell silent, including the two causes of this mayhem. Brady’s face wrinkled. He was going to start crying. Judging by the droop of his twin’s bottom lip, Brett wouldn’t be far behind.
Sara knew exactly how they felt. Nothing about today was going right.
“Sorry I scared you.” Amusement laced the man’s voice the way a drop of rich cream mellows coffee. “Maybe I can help. Grab the one in blue and pass him to me, then you can haul out the red-shirted one. Okay?”
“I’ll try. Thanks.” Sara didn’t dare take her eyes off the twins. “Come on, Brett. Out you go.”
“No.” It was his favorite word.
Sara desperately wished she’d been late this morning and therefore unavailable to watch her brother’s kids while he took an important call. Coming home to help out the family was one thing, but babysitting in a bridal store was asking for trouble.
A wicker basket hit the floor, scattering rose petals everywhere.
“Come on, Brett. We’ll play with your toys,” she wheedled.
“No.”
“No,” Brady copied.
“Auntie will get you a new toy.” Sara clung to her smile, feeling a fool in front of the stranger. Ordinarily she deplored bribery, but this situation called for desperate measures. “Don’t you want a new toy?”
“No.”
“Yes!” Exasperated, Sara extended her fingertips to snag a belt loop on Brett’s tiny blue jeans just as the voice behind her inquired:
“I don’t suppose either of them likes candy?”
“Candy?” Brett surged up so fast his head hit Sara’s chin, knocking her teeth together. He dropped the tulle he’d pulled down, almost forcing her off balance as he launched himself through the narrow passage. “I like candy. Candy’s good.”
“Sometimes it’s very good.” The voice behind Sara sounded amused by the bundle of nonstop energy. “Gotcha. But we can’t have candy without your brother. Can you sit very still and wait for him?”
“Brett’s a good boy.”
“You sure are,” the visitor agreed. “I wonder how good your brother is.”
The man knew kids. Brady’s frown deepened. He glared at Sara as if she’d maligned his character. Or tried to steal his treat.
“Brady’s good, too!” He dropped to all fours, crawled between Sara’s feet and out the door.
“Got him, too,” the masculine voice triumphed. “You can come out now.”
Sara wasn’t sure she wanted to. Not if it meant another half hour of trying to pry grimy fingers off the pristine bridal dresses displayed all over the foyer.
“I assure you, it’s safe.” Laughter colored the edge of their visitor’s low-throated rumble. “For now, anyway.”
“I’m coming.” She rubbed one finger against her throbbing skull and found her way blocked. “Would you step back? It’s very narrow here.”
“Sure is.” He jostled the door against a tulle-covered arch laced with nodding sunflowers. The arch jiggled, then shifted. That knocked off the bride’s arm. It clattered to the floor along with her bouquet of dried autumn wildflowers.
The resulting mess was a far cry from