The Maverick's Holiday Masquerade. Caro Carson
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herself.
I want a cowboy, capable and strong, who has eyes only for me, who loves only me, ’til death do us part.
She loved her family. She loved her hometown. And someday, she silently vowed, she would love a cowboy who was honest and true. If only...
If only she could find the right cowboy.
“No more city slickers for me,” Kristen whispered. “I’ll have the real deal, or I’ll stay single forever.”
“To true love.” Kayla raised her cup in a toast.
Kristen knew Kayla was trying to cheer her up, so she straightened and lifted her cup. “To true love. Too bad we’re out of actual punch for this toast.”
“It still counts.”
The carriage had been noticed by other people as it drew closer to the park entrance. Kristen and Kayla jumped down from the fence to join the growing crowd as they followed the carriage into the heart of the park. The bride and groom’s tête-à-tête was over as Braden pulled the team to a stop amid applause, good-natured catcalls about what had taken so long and a flurry of activity as the bride gathered up her skirts and bouquet, preparing to get down from the high surrey bench.
“Looks like she went traditional with a sweetheart neckline. I’m going to the other side to get a better look at her dress, okay?”
“Have fun,” Kristen said as Kayla slipped through the small crowd.
Braden tied off the reins and set the brake, but for added safety amid the noisy well-wishers, two cowboys held the bridles of the white horses as Braden jumped down from the surrey. One cowboy was Sutter Traub, the town’s own horse whisperer, and the other was...
The Cowboy.
Kristen’s heart thudded in her chest. Another one of those giddy waves of joy passed through her, even as the lump in her throat returned. The Cowboy! She’d wished for him and he was here, so soon after she’d made her personal vow, she could hardly believe he was real.
Yet there he was, a man she’d never seen before, holding the bridle and calming the lead horse as Braden handed his bride down from the surrey. The Cowboy—her cowboy—was the most physically appealing man she’d ever seen. Tall, dark and handsome barely began to describe him, inadequate to cover the physical confidence he possessed as he talked with the other men and kept the horse calm at the same time. The Cowboy had an air of authority that had surely come from a lifetime of handling anything that land or livestock could throw at a man.
Kristen stepped a little to one side, and the crowd parted just enough that she could check him out from his boots and jeans—check and check—to his white button-down shirt. It looked a little dressy for the picnic; he’d probably been at the church for the ceremony. He’d cuffed up the long sleeves, revealing strong forearms.
He was tan, but so were most of the ranchers who worked outdoors. Even the summer sun couldn’t lighten his nearly black hair, which he wore short, but not shorn. It was long enough that she could see a bit of a wave in it, and she knew it would feel glorious when she could run her fingers through it. When he was hers, she’d have the right to touch him and casually brush his hair back from his forehead.
Her gaze traveled past his broad shoulders to the strong hands that held the bridle. When he was hers, she’d have the right to touch him anywhere. Everywhere.
Her fingers practically tingled in anticipation.
He wore no cowboy hat, but that wasn’t unusual. Half the cowboys didn’t wear one when they weren’t working. A lot of the local guys wore ball caps with dumb fishing mottos on them, but not her cowboy. He looked too classy for that. He looked...
She couldn’t put her tingling finger on it, but he didn’t quite look like any of the cowboys from around Rust Creek Falls.
He’s not from around here, that’s why.
Kristen would have noticed him long ago if he were a local.
Who are you?
He looked right at her, as if he’d heard her ask the question. Over the nose of the white horse, across the dozen people who milled between them, their gazes met and held.
The people and the picnic and the party disappeared. Kristen felt only the heat in his dark brown eyes. He checked her out as thoroughly as she’d been checking him out, his gaze moving across her bare shoulders, down the V of her halter dress, taking in her boots with a brief quirk of his lips. She didn’t miss it, because she hadn’t looked away for a second. She was no shrinking violet. When he realized she was still watching him, he lifted a brow. She tossed her hair back and shrugged one bare shoulder.
Across the crowd, they shared a slow smile. If it was true that like attracted like, then she and this man sure were alike. When people said “two peas in a pod” to Kristen, they were invariably referring to her twin, but on this special summer day, Kristen knew that she and this man were a match, too. That smile said it all.
Without warning, the horse he was holding threw its head up. The Cowboy lost his grip on the bridle and took a head-butt to the jaw. Of course, he had the bridle back in hand and the horse steady in a second, but as his dark brown eyes met Kristen’s once more, his mouth quirked again in a bit of a sheepish smile.
Kristen wanted to toss her head like the snowy white horse. What do you know? I just made a cowboy lose control of a horse.
With a self-satisfied smile, Kristen turned toward the pavilion and the punch table. It was time to get two fresh cups and introduce herself to the man of her dreams.
* * *
Ryan rubbed his jaw as he moved with the rest of the wedding party toward the stage.
That horse had hit him as hard as the best boxer he’d ever faced down in the ring. Ryan was grateful that he knew how to take a punch. He’d managed to stay on his feet, so he hadn’t looked like a complete fool in front of the exquisite woman he’d been so thoroughly distracted by. He hoped he hadn’t looked like a fool. She’d disappeared into the crowd.
He’d find her again. The crowd here wasn’t big enough for someone to get lost permanently, a point definitely in favor of small towns at the moment. He scanned the people edging the dance floor, looking for her unusual blend of delicate features and a bold gaze.
The lead singer of the band spoke into the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please? I’d like to turn the stage over to the mayor of Rust Creek Falls, Collin Traub.”
Another Traub. Was everyone in the town related to the bride and groom? And, by birth and by blood, to Ryan’s own brother?
As a man about Ryan’s age took the mike amid a round of applause, everyone turned to face the stage. Ryan kept looking through the crowd, scanning the backs of the heads of the people in front of him, looking for one particular woman’s long hair.
The attorney side of himself, which was practically the only side he had, yanked his attention back to the stage. If he was seriously considering a move to this town, he ought to be evaluating the mayor. Local government would have a huge impact on the growth of the town and the requirements for operating a business. He couldn’t prosper in a town that elected inflexible or unqualified people to office. Ryan focused on the mayor, who still wore his tuxedo as part of the wedding party, a tuxedo with a bolo tie instead of a bow tie, of course. The men around here were never far from their cowboy roots, even in their formal attire. The mayor’s welcome speech was sensible, friendly and, that most appreciated trait of all speeches, short.
Like Ryan’s attention span. He couldn’t focus on anything but seeing that woman again. The sun had highlighted her hair when he’d seen her, framing her in a halo of light. He was looking for a shade of brown that shone with gold, like caramel or honey or something appealing he’d find in one of his brother’s kitchens.
Unbelievable.