Culter to marry Arthur Brun.
Susannah Everly to marry Chase Clayton.
What?
Her heart stopped. She tried to take in air, but her throat wasn’t working, either.
Susannah Everly to marry Chase Clayton.
No.
Chase Clayton.
Josie felt her head bobbing, as if her heart beat so hard it shook her whole body with every stroke. She saw her own brown bangs, which needed cutting. They looked dull and lank as they trembled across her vision. She tried to think, but none of the gears in her brain seemed willing to turn.
She held out one hand toward Ed. “I,” she began, strangling the word. “I—”
He had no pity, as usual. He looked annoyed by her incoherence. He shifted, and his cologne filled the air. “Jeez, Josie, get a grip.”
And then, finally, she lost the battle, all the battles. With her pride, with her heart, her exhaustion, and even, to Ed’s dismay, her roiling stomach.
“I—” She tried one more time.
And then she threw up all over his lizard-skin boots.
CHAPTER TWO
TWO HOURS into his own engagement party, Chase Clayton was bored and restless and having trouble hiding it.
He had agreed to put on a tie and make nice with all their friends for Susannah’s sake—she loved parties—but the truth was, he was bored stiff.
Besides, there was work he needed to do. Well, needed might be an exaggeration. Trent, his ranch manager, was too good to leave much for Chase to worry about.
But there was work he’d rather do. Every time another person in this endless line of well-wishers came up, slapped him on the back and offered the same carbon copy congratulations, he smiled politely, but his mind was a mile away, wondering how things were going on the reroofing of the south stable.
When his phone vibrated on his belt, it was like getting a governor’s reprieve. He eased back his jacket and sneaked a peek at the text. Trent had a problem and needed a minute. Chase could say no, but he wasn’t going to. Fate had thrown him a life raft, and he was jumping on.
“Would you excuse me? That call was from Trent. Some kind of hay emergency, if you can believe there is such a thing.” Chase smiled at Jenny Wilcox, the pastor’s wife, who for some unknown reason seemed to be so damn happy about Chase’s engagement that she’d spent the past twenty minutes alternately giggling and then tearing up like a leaky faucet.
“Of course. I’ve kept you from Susannah far too long,” Jenny said, sniffing in a bliss of emotion. “Oh, I’m so pleased that you two finally got together! You’re so perfect together. And with the ranches right next door…oh, it’s just too perfect!”
Before another spill of tears could appear, Chase squeezed her hand and turned away. Trying not to attract attention, he set down his tumbler of ice water and eased toward the corner of the terrace. He wondered, just for a second, whether Trent had manufactured this crisis. He knew Chase well, and might have guessed that his boss needed a breather.
Or maybe it had something to do with Sue. Chase looked over his shoulder. Susannah Everly stood by the fountain talking to Jim Stilling, their lawyer. She held a glass of white wine that caught the sunshine when she drank, tossing it in gold sparkles onto her strong, tanned shoulders. Jim seemed mesmerized, and even Chase had to admit that Sue looked great. That low-cut green dress was the girliest outfit he’d ever seen her wear, and he’d known her all her life.
Any man in his right mind would be thrilled to marry a woman like that.
The man he was about to meet, for instance. Trent Maxwell had loved Susannah for years.
Which showed how Fate enjoyed a little kick of irony, didn’t it?
Chase slipped around the edge of the terrace. As the chatter of voices faded, he strolled to the front of the house, ignoring the small twinge of conscience at being absent from his own celebration.
All through his childhood, he’d been infamous for sneaking away from family parties. His parents had thrown the biggest balls and barbecues in the county. Anything was an excuse for a Clayton festival—Christmas, birthdays, Chase’s elementary school graduation, the full moon…anything. But Chase always found himself bored, drifting down to the riverbank to catch minnows, or into the stables to brush Captain Kirk, the lazy bald-face bay his parents had given him when he’d turned fourteen.
“You sure you’re a Clayton, son?” His father, a huge, happy man, loved to snag his young son by the feet. “You sure your mom didn’t slip the corral about nine months before you were born?” He’d check Chase’s heel, just for the pride of seeing the walnut-colored Clayton birthmark. “Yep, you’ve got the family brand, but I’ll be damned if I know where this antisocial stuff sneaked into the bloodline.”
It had sneaked in, though. Chase and Trent had been friends since elementary school, and Chase sometimes wondered whether they had been accidentally switched at birth. Trent was suave and well dressed, socially sought after, the ideal guest. Chase preferred blue jeans and hard work, and the company of horses.
“Hey, corporal, over here,” a voice said, and Chase looked toward the front porch. Trent stood in the shadows, leaning over the balcony, his shoulders oddly stiff. He hadn’t turned his head in Chase’s direction. Instead, he seemed half-frozen, staring out toward the road.
Chase wondered what Trent was looking at. The main house fronted pretty close to the street, so this view wasn’t the one that took your breath away.
The real beauty was from the back, where the party was going on right now. The Double C was substantial, but not grand—25,000 acres now that Chase had bought the Hillman land—and, behind the house, acre after acre of green pasture and ponderosa pines undulated down to the creek. Clayton land splashed right through the clear, pebbled water and then marched across another ten thousand acres of peach orchard, almost all the way to the Austin city limits.
Out here, though, there wasn’t much to see, unless you counted the bluebonnets on either side of the white fence that marked the half-mile driveway. But as Chase drew closer, he got a better view of Trent’s face. He realized his friend hadn’t been looking at anything. He’d just been staring blind.
Of course. This wasn’t going to be an easy day for Trent, no matter how you cut it.
Chase climbed the six steps and joined his manager on the porch, leaning his elbows on the banister, too. “So, what’s up? Is there really a hay emergency, or are you playing guardian angel, giving me a breather?”
Trent laughed. “Both. About the hay—we went with that new company you said you wanted. Old Joe’s daughter’s new business. She delivered a semi load today, and the first three bales were moldy.”
Trent’s educated voice was clipped, clearly irritated. He didn’t tolerate moldy hay, or any other kind of shabby work, which was what made him the perfect ranch manager. He was what cowboys used to call “square.” Completely on top of his job.
“Damn
