know how she was going to handle watching Savannah walk down the aisle today. But she had to.
“This must be difficult,” Jackson whispered.
Had he noticed her nerves? She nodded.
“Imagine you’re at the rodeo.” She could feel his breath on her hair as he leaned in to whisper, “Everyone’s in regular clothes. The guys are in the chutes, waiting for their ride.”
“And the organ music?”
“That’s just the fans cheering.”
He was being silly. But it was working. She could feel her muscles relaxing. She closed her eyes, picturing the scene that Jackson was laying out for her. She’d been to countless rodeos over the years; in fact, that was how she’d met—
Brock.
Her eyes flashed open. Her heart began to race and her body went rigid. If he hadn’t died in that crash on his way to the church, he would be sitting beside her right now. They’d be man and wife and—
The music changed then, became a march. Everyone shifted in their seats, and after a second, so did Winnie.
“Rodeo princesses are making their entrance,” Jackson said softly as the crowd gasped. He placed a steady hand on her shoulder.
Her nerves calmed at his words, his touch.
“Imagine they’re on horses,” he added.
Not hard to do, since the first bride was Cassidy, and she was never happier than when she was riding. The golden-haired woman with her sunshine smile had a degree from the University of Montana but she worked at Monahan’s Equestrian Center now, doing what she’d been born and raised to do—train horses.
The normally taciturn Farley beamed as his bride—no, rodeo princess—gave him her hand. The look they shared was so sweet that Winnie’s heart tumbled a little, but she set it right again by turning to look at the second bride.
Fortunately, Savannah didn’t look anything like a sheriff today in her fitted white dress and delicate shoes, her long dark hair falling in gentle waves down her shoulders. The crowd gave her a second appreciative gasp, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her smile and gaze were just for B.J.
As the congregation settled down, Winnie focused on her hands clasped in her lap.
“Family and friends,” intoned the minister, “We are gathered today to celebrate the marriages of two very special couples—”
A tear dropped onto her hand. She hadn’t even realized that she’d started to cry. She blinked, and a second one followed.
Suddenly a large hand covered both of hers. She felt the rough calluses first. The warmth second.
She glanced up and saw such a tender look in Jackson’s eyes that she almost started crying again. Thank goodness she’d been smart enough to forgo eye makeup. She had to get a grip here. Listening to the minister had been a mistake. She had to take Jackson’s lead and pretend she was somewhere else.
In her mind Winnie started going over all of Bobby’s milestones. The first time he rolled over. His first smile. His first tooth. Gradually she could feel her muscles relaxing, and Jackson must have felt the same, because he gave her hands a pat, then returned his hand to his own thigh.
The fact that he was being so kind to her made her feel even worse about the suffering she knew he’d been going through this past year and a half. She should have called him sooner. Maybe they could have helped one another through their grief, rather than dealing with the sadness and loss on their own.
Once the ceremony was over, they would talk. She’d invite him for coffee. Make things right.
* * *
JACKSON STONE WAS in agony. Of all the people in this church, why had that damn kid sat Winnie Hays next to him?
If only they weren’t squished in so tightly that he could feel her warm thigh up against his. The contact was the sweetest form of torture he could imagine. There were at least a dozen reasons why he shouldn’t find her so attractive, but he did.
And he had from the first time Brock had brought her home to meet the family.
He’d never met a woman before with such sparkle in her eyes, such sass in her smile. He’d watched her shake hands with Olive, Cassidy, Corb and B.J. and when it came time for his turn, he’d half expected sparks to ignite when her palm met his.
And they had.
But only for him.
That was when he knew that he had to keep as much distance between himself and Brock’s girlfriend as possible.
And he’d done it.
But it hadn’t made his life easy. And it had become a true nightmare on the day of their wedding.
Jackson still had terrible dreams about the crash. He hadn’t seen the moose in time to avoid a collision. There had been a curve in the road, then the stand of aspen and willows.
And suddenly the huge body of a bull moose coming up from the right...
No. He couldn’t let himself go there. Not now. If this was hard for him, it had to be four times more difficult for Winnie. Last night at the rehearsal dinner Laurel had confided to him that she expected her friend to bail out of the ceremony.
“She’ll come to the reception,” Corb’s redheaded wife had said. “But not to the church.”
“Yeah. That’s probably the best thing,” he’d said.
He’d wished he could skip the ceremony, too. But he’d lived with the Lamberts since he was thirteen, and B.J. and Cassidy were like his own siblings. He didn’t want to miss their special day because of his own weakness. And he did see it as a weakness—that he couldn’t seem to get past that day.
Diversions helped. Things like work, Maddie Turner’s illness and the financial challenge of turning around the fortunes of the Silver Creek Ranch.
But occasionally a guy had to stop and just be.
And that was when the bad memories would sneak in. Sometimes he envied Corb, who’d sustained serious brain trauma in the accident and remembered nothing.
He wished he could have been unconscious, too. Then he wouldn’t have the pictures of the awful aftermath in his head.
The split second when he’d seen the moose. Then the crash and the screams. Followed by silence.
The moose had taken out the roof of the truck and sunshine had beamed directly on his head. He’d been pinned to his seat by the airbag at first. Stunned.
The first thing he noticed was the sunshine, warm on his head. Birds were singing. He said a prayer before turning his head.
But the prayer hadn’t been answered. Because all he’d seen was blood. And when he’d called out to the others, to Brock and to Corb—no one had responded.
