repitition of “Ode to Joy” was getting on Laurel’s nerves.
“Damn.” Cassidy disconnected the call after reaching the answering service. Next she tried Jackson’s number. Again, no one picked up. “If this is some sort of prank, I’m going to kill them.”
But Laurel could see the worry in Cassidy’s deep green eyes. She was scared. So was Winnie. Her face had gone whiter than the fabric of her wedding gown, making her brown eyes seem almost as black as her hair.
Winnie glanced out the window again. “Someone’s coming! I think it’s Jackson’s SUV....”
Cassidy peered over her shoulder. “No. It’s a County Sheriff vehicle.”
The three women exchanged looks, no one saying what they were all thinking. This couldn’t be good. Laurel’s pulse thumped crazily in her throat as she watched the driver park in front of the church. A long-legged woman dressed in uniform, dark hair worn in a long braid to accommodate her hat, stepped out to the street. She glanced left, right, then seemed to take a deep breath before heading inside the church.
“Who was that?” Laurel wondered.
“Sheriff Savannah Moody.” Winnie’s voice was unnaturally low. “She’s a good friend of Brock’s. We were going to invite her to the wedding, but he said there was bad blood between her and B.J. I don’t know the details.”
Laurel’s mind went blank, refusing to speculate on the reasons for the sheriff’s unexpected appearance. Instead, she thought of the day, a week ago, when she’d arrived at the airport in Billings, having spent most of a day traveling to Montana from New York City.
Winnie had been called in for an unexpected dress fitting and so she’d sent the best man to collect Laurel. Corb Lambert, brother of the groom. “He’ll be the cowboy with a dimple in his left cheek,” was all Winnie wrote in her hurried text message.
Laurel hadn’t seen him at first. She was worried about her bag, which hadn’t appeared on the carousel, even though most of her fellow passengers on Delta 4608 had claimed their luggage and departed the airport at least five minutes ago.
“Please don’t let them have lost my suitcase,” she pleaded with the airline gods. Besides her clothes for the week, she stood to lose her bridesmaid gown and Winnie and Brock’s wedding gift.
And then she saw them both, in the same second. The brown, beaten suitcase with the pink ribbon tied around the handle. And the cowboy striding toward her with a grin and a sparkle to his eye that made her automatically pat her hair and suck in her tummy.
“Sugar?” He walked right up to her. “If you’re Laurel Sheridan I think Coffee Creek is about to become a whole lot sweeter.”
A corny line, but, oh, how her heart had pounded.
As it was pounding now, in a much less pleasant way.
Laurel squeezed Winnie’s hand, staying close to her friend, who’d started to tremble. They followed Cassidy out the door of the antechamber into the vestibule. Two wide doors stood open to the church where all the guests awaited. Chatter filled the air, along with the Beethoven.
And then, abruptly, the organ stopped and everyone turned, expecting to see the bride. A collective gasp washed over the room when Sheriff Moody stepped forward, instead. With a grim expression she said, “I need to talk to someone from the Lambert family.”
A brief hesitation, then B.J. stood, tall and lean in his charcoal suit and tie. “Savannah.” His grim expression grew darker. “What happened?”
Olive made her way to her feet and said what everyone in the room was fearing. “Has there been an accident?”
The silence intensified as one second stretched
into two.
“I’m sorry, Olive. But yes. There’s been an a-accident.” The sheriff’s voice broke on the last word and Laurel could feel Winnie wobble on the delicate heels of her wedding shoes. On cue, Cassidy came up on the bride’s other side and helped Laurel hold her steady.
Sheriff Moody looked from B.J. to the bride, then finally back to Olive. “Jackson’s SUV hit a moose on Big Valley Road, about five miles from town.”
The name of the road meant nothing to Laurel. She was holding her breath, praying again, not with sharp annoyance as she had at the airport, but with total desperation. Please let them be okay. Just a few cuts and bruises, she bargained, maybe a broken leg or two.
“Brock?” Winnie locked her gaze on the sheriff, who slowly shook her head.
“I’m so sorry, Winnie. Brock was sitting in the front passenger seat—the impact point with the moose. He didn’t have a chance.”
Winnie made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a cry, then pulled her hands free from the supportive hold of Laurel and Cassidy and covered her face.
Laurel wrapped her arms around her friend, her mind slipping away to the party they’d had, just last night. She and Corb had been dancing. They’d had a few beers. The lights were low and her body had tingled at the touch of his hands on her waist and shoulder. When she’d stumbled, Corb said, “Tired? Let me walk you home, sugar.”
He’d done more than just walk her home. A lot more. Never in her life had she fallen for somebody this hard. This fast.
“What about Corb?” B.J.’s voice was stretched tighter than a barbed wire fence. “And Jackson?”
“Jackson was driving, wearing his seat belt and the air bag was able to cushion him from the worst of it. He’s badly bruised and shaken, but he’s okay.”
And Corb?
“Your other brother was in the backseat. He should have been fine, but I’m afraid he wasn’t wearing his seat belt. As we speak he’s being medevaced to Great Falls. I can’t say how bad his injuries are. You’ll have to talk to the doctors for that.”
“Is he conscious?” Olive asked, her voice rough, eyes desperate.
The sheriff shook her head. “No.”
Chapter One
Two Months Later
Laurel was making the rounds of the Cinnamon Stick Café with a fresh carafe of coffee, when she noticed Maddie Turner’s mug needed refreshing. She paused to serve the stocky, gray-haired rancher, who glanced up from the papers she was reviewing to give her a smile.
“Thanks, Laurel. Could you get me another cinnamon bun, too, please?”
“You bet, Maddie.” After two months of running the Cinnamon Stick while Winnie convalesced on her parents’ farm, Laurel was a fixture with all the regulars. And Maddie Turner, owner of the Silver Creek Ranch, sure did love her baked goods.
When she’d first started working at the café, Laurel had drooled over the cinnamon buns, too. Now, just the sight of one of the frosted goodies made her queasy. Laurel tried not to inhale as she plated one of the buns, then passed it to Maddie.
Back behind the counter,
