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Celia Armstrong ducked out of the kitchen at Whiskey Mountain Lodge, glad this wedding had been scheduled in the winter. Because, wow. This kitchen radiated with heat from all the cooking she’d been doing.
Her hair felt flat and lifeless, and she moved down the hall toward the guest bathroom in Beau and Lily’s suite. The lodge seemed stuffed with noise, and it actually warmed Celia’s heart. Her house was entirely too quiet these days, and she loved coming up to Whiskey Mountain Lodge and spending time with the Whittakers.
In the bathroom, she spruced up her hair and pulled a tube of lip gloss out of her purse. With perfectly pink and shiny lips, she finally felt ready to attend a wedding. And not just any wedding. Her best friend’s wedding.
Amanda Whittaker had been dating for several years, and she’d finally found the perfect cowboy for her. Of course, she’d never really been looking for a cowboy, and Celia hadn’t been looking at all.
“You should be,” she murmured to her reflection, wondering when her hair had gotten quite so gray. She was fifty-five now, and Brandon had died twenty years ago. Celia had been right in the thick of raising her two daughters, and she hadn’t needed anything or anyone else.
There hadn’t been time for anything or anyone else. With a five-year-old and a one-year-old, Celia had often felt like she was drowning.
But her daughters were both grown now, both in college, and both living somewhere else.
Maybe it’s time, she thought, her eyes pressing closed in a long blink. A sense of peace came over her, and she tipped her chin toward the ceiling, imagining her thoughts could get all the way to heaven.
“Dear Lord,” she began, the way she had for many years when she had no idea what to do. How to get Reagan’s fever down. How to get Ruth to eat something more than chicken nuggets.
“Could I find another husband?” she asked, hoping the Lord would send a direct sign to her eyes and ears.
Of course, He didn’t. She’d learned over the years that His plans for her were much more subtle. Sometimes she wondered if He was even there, and then He would remind her in powerful ways that He was.
Someone knocked on the door. “Hey, Celia,” Beau said, his voice light and carefree. “Um, there’s a problem in the kitchen….”
“What did you boys touch?” she asked, giving him a smile as she stepped past him into the hall.
“Nothing, I swear,” he said. “Someone asked for coffee, and I’ve seen Graham pour coffee before. But the mug cracked, and now there’s some sort of problem.”
Celia heard the commotion coming from the kitchen, and she wondered what had possessed Amanda to choose the lodge to get married. It was a huge building, sure. Many bedrooms upstairs, a few downstairs, and a theater room. The kitchen and dining room took up a third of the main level, and the master suite took up another third, leaving only a third for a living room where the ceremony would take place in half an hour.
Who needed coffee thirty minutes before a wedding?
She rounded the corner into the kitchen to find Graham and Laney there, each holding a towel. “It’s fine,” Graham said when he saw her. “We didn’t touch the food, and nothing got damaged.”
Celia’s eyes still swept the trays and trays of appetizers she’d spent many hours prepping. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and she finally looked back at Graham.
“Why’d you go get her?” Graham asked Beau, taking off his hat and running his hands through his hair. He wore a tuxedo, and he didn’t seem super happy about it. But he’d do anything for his mother, Celia knew that. He threw the coffee-stained towel in the kitchen sink, and Celia moved to get it.
She took the one from Laney too and said, “It’s fine, Graham. Is everything ready for the wedding?”
“It better be,” Laney said with a grateful smile. “Everything looks great, Celia.”
“Thanks. I’m just going to put these in the washing machine.” Celia slipped out of the kitchen again, unsure as to why all these people here were causing so much anxiety to trip through her.
She loved having a houseful of people, and she’d thrived on the Christmas Eve meals here for the past eight years. Why she felt so lonely today, she wasn’t sure. A sigh leaked from her mouth as she tossed the towels in the washing machine and stayed in the quiet laundry room.
The sound of the back door opening, and a couple of male voices, indicated two men had just come in from outside. One man chuckled. Celia turned and caught a glimpse of him as he moved past the entrance to the laundry room, but he also wore a black jacket across those broad shoulders, black slacks, as well as a charcoal-colored cowboy hat.
Celia had grown up in Wyoming and spent her whole life in the presence of cowboys. They were her kryptonite, and she wondered if the man walking with Finn was single. He’d brought a friend to the wedding, as well as his daughters and their boyfriends.
So maybe….
The man paused in the doorway and turned toward Finn, providing Celia with a nice profile, what with that strong jaw and full lips.
He looked a little bit familiar to her. How that was possible, she didn’t know. She’d lived in Coral Canyon so long, she knew everyone. Of course, so had Amanda, and she’d found a new husband in Dog Valley.
And this guy was talking to Finn. Perhaps he lived in the small town thirty minutes north of Coral Canyon too.
He glanced back the way he’d come, and Celia’s heart started bouncing around inside her chest. He was extremely handsome, and a smile touched his mouth as he followed Finn and left Celia’s eyesight.
Alone, she pressed one palm to her pulse, almost willing it to calm down.
She was definitely ready to start dating again, and she thought, Thank You, Lord, before heading down the hall after that handsome cowboy toward the living room. After all, her best friend was about to get married.
Before she could take too many steps, really get a good look at that cowboy who’d accelerated her pulse with a chuckle and a smile, someone called her name. A fair bit of panic rode in the two syllables, and she hurried back into the kitchen to find Stockton standing in the middle of a couple dozen tarts.
Eli’s face looked like he’d been stung by an army of red ants. His face shone with anger, the bright red so not like him. “Stockton,” he barked. “I told you not to come in here.”
“It’s fine,” Celia said, though she had no time to make more tarts. It was fine. They could make everything work with less.
“I’ll pick them up,” Stockton said, his voice high-pitched and tinny. The boy had just turned eleven, and he and his parents and sister had just moved back to Coral Canyon three weeks ago. He stooped, his perfectly polished shoe squishing a cherry tart.
“Stockton.” Eli sounded one breath away from losing it completely.
Celia looked at him and stepped between him and the child and said, “Eli, it was an accident. I’ll take him to clean up. Could you get these in the trashcan, please?”
His face crumbled. “Celia—”
“It’s fine.” She glanced over as Beau appeared in the doorway. “Beau will help you.” She pointed to the floor. “Clean this up. Your mother doesn’t need to know.”
Beau’s jaw clenched, and he nodded. Celia turned, put her arm around Stockton, and said, “Take off your shoe, Stocky.”
He did, and Celia took it. “This will clean up easily.” She wished all the windows were open, as she felt so dang hot. “Come on, baby,” she said, and Stockton swiped at his face as he spun and marched out of the kitchen, his gait uneven with only one polished, black shoe on his feet.
She followed him back to the bathroom where she’d freshened up. She felt like no amount of lip gloss could conceal how harried and stressed she was.
“I’m sorry, Celia,” Stockton said, his tears still brimming in those innocent eyes.
“It’s fine,” she said. “They’re tarts. No big deal.” She glanced at him as she bent to get a washcloth out of the vanity. “Did your dad tell you to stay out of the kitchen?”
“Yeah.” Stockton looked miserable. “But me and Bailey just wanted to run down to the barn real quick.”
“Your grandmother is getting married in ten minutes. You thought you had time to get down to the barn real quick?” She turned on the water and smiled at the boy. “I miss you, bud.” She gathered him into a hug, suddenly anxious for her own grandchildren. “I’m glad you’ve moved back here.”
“Will you make those apple ebelskivers sometime?” he asked, sniffling as he cried into her chest. Celia’s heart expanded with love for this boy, and he didn’t even belong to her by blood. But he definitely belonged to her in some way.
“Tomorrow if you want,” she said, stepping back and brushing the tears from his face. “Now, let’s get this pie off your shoe. Your grandma won’t like that in her wedding party.”
Stockton stood and watched her clean it up, telling her about his school project. She got his shoe back on, and she hugged him again. “You should apologize to your dad.”
“I know. I will.” Stockton squeezed her tight and then left the bathroom. She sighed, one more trip to the laundry room in her future.
She caught sight of that charcoal-colored hat as she passed the living room entrance, and somehow, the cowboy felt the weight of her gaze, and their eyes met again. Something familiar struck her in the chest. She knew him….
“Time to line up,” someone said, and Celia increased her pace. Even though it only took a few seconds to get the cherry pie washcloth in the washing machine, by the time she returned to the hallway, it seemed everyone had a partner.
Except her.
Her breath caught in her throat, and she felt at a loss for what to do. This was a familiar feeling for Celia, as the moment Brandon had died, she’d been left adrift with two small children. Everything became except her. Everyone had someone to sit by at church—except her. Everyone had a date on Valentine’s Day—except her. Everyone had someone to watch their children for ladies night at the rec center—except her.
She’d had to figure things out as she went. Find babysitters. Sit by the pastor’s wife. Make cakes and bacon bouquets for her and Reagan and Ruth on Valentine’s Day.
As if Moses himself had arrived to part the Red Sea, the crowd shifted, showing her the cowboy in the charcoal-colored hat.
“Need a partner?” he asked, that delicious smile on his face. He took a couple steps past Beau and Lily, and a horrible realization hit her with the force of a ton of bricks.
She did know him.
Zach Zuckerman.
She sucked in a breath, the memories from her childhood rushing through her like river rapids.
“Zach,” she hissed, an undeniable and inexplicable fury and dislike overcoming her.
He paused, cocked his head, and studied her. Not three seconds passed before he said, “Celia Abbott.” His smile vanished, and he looked at her with the same disdain all Abbotts had for the Zuckermans.
Going back for as many generations as Celia could remember, the Abbotts and Zuckermans had been enemies. They still owned ranches across the road from one another in Coral Canyon, and the feud continued to this day.
Celia didn’t even remember what it was about.
But she knew she couldn’t date Zach Zuckerman. Period. The end.
“Go on,” Graham said, nudging Zach to the front of the line. “You’re the best man, Zach. Celia, you’re with him. It’s time to start.”
Celia looked at Zach, wondering how in the world this had happened. How he’d gotten here, inside the lodge that had become a sanctuary for her. How she could possibly link her arm through his and smile, even for a moment. Even for Amanda.
“Celia,” Graham hissed, and she realized Zach had moved and had his elbow cocked toward her.
Seeing no other choice, she put her arm in his and faced the front.
