you’d accidentally flashed the paparazzi when you were nineteen or how many times you’d been arrested for driving while intoxicated. All that mattered to animals was that you fed them and rubbed their ears.
Besides, Whitney was on vacation. A vacation with a wedding in it, but still. She was going to see the sights in Denver and get her nails done and all sorts of fun things. It didn’t seem fair to bring the dogs only to leave them in a bedroom most of the time.
Jo nodded as Whitney got her bags out of the truck. “Who’s watching them?”
“Donald—you remember him, right? From the next ranch over?”
“The crusty old fart who doesn’t watch TV?”
Jo and Whitney shared a look. In that moment, Whitney was glad she’d come. Jo understood her as no one else did.
Everyone else in the world thought Donald was borderline insane—a holdover hippie from the 1960s who’d done too much acid back in the day. He lived off the grid, talked about animals as if they were his brothers and discussed Mother Earth as if she were coming to dinner next week.
But that meant Donald wasn’t tuned in to pop culture. Which also meant he didn’t know who Whitney was—who she’d been. Donald just thought Whitney was the neighbor who really should install more solar panels on her barn roof. And if she had to occasionally listen to a lecture on composting toilets, well, that was a trade-off she was willing to make.
She was going to miss her animals, but knowing Donald, he was probably sitting on the ground in the paddock, telling her horses bedtime stories.
Besides, being part of her best friend’s wedding was an opportunity even she couldn’t pass up. “What’s this I hear about you and Phillip Beaumont?”
Jo smiled. “Come on,” she said, grabbing one of Whitney’s bags. “Dinner will be in about an hour. I’ll get you caught up.”
She led Whitney inside. The whole house was festooned—there was no other word for it—with red bows and pine boughs. A massive tree, blinking with red-and-white lights, the biggest star Whitney had ever seen perched on top, stood in a bay window. The whole place had such a rustic Christmas charm that Whitney felt herself grinning. This would be a perfect way to spend Christmas, instead of watching It’s a Wonderful Life on the couch at home.
A small brown animal with extremely long ears clomped up to her and sniffed. “Well, hello again, Betty,” Whitney said as she crouched down onto her heels. “You remember me? You spent a few months sitting on my couch last winter.”
The miniature donkey sniffed Whitney’s hair and brayed before rubbing her head into Whitney’s hands.
“If I recall correctly,” Jo said, setting down Whitney’s bag, “your pups didn’t particularly care for a donkey in the house.”
“Not particularly,” Whitney agreed. Fifi hadn’t minded as long as Betty stayed off her bed, but Gater had taken it as a personal insult that Whitney had allowed a hoofed animal into the house. As far as Gater was concerned, hoofed animals belonged in the barn.
She stood. Betty leaned against her legs so that Whitney could stroke her long ears.
“You’re not going to believe this,” Jo said as she moved Whitney’s other bag, “but Matthew wants her to walk down the aisle. He’s rigged up a basket so she can carry the flower petals and it’s got a pillow attached on top so she can carry the rings. The flower girl will walk beside her and throw the petals. He says it’ll be an amazing visual.”
Whitney blinked. “Wait—Matthew? I thought you were marrying Phillip?”
“She is.” A blindingly handsome man strode into the room—tall and blond and instantly recognizable. “Hello,” he said with a grin as he walked up to Whitney. He leaned forward, his eyes fastened on hers, and stuck out a hand. “I’m Phillip Beaumont.”
The Phillip Beaumont. Having formerly been someone famous, Whitney was not prone to getting starstruck. But Phillip was looking at her so intently that for a moment, she forgot her own name.
“And you must be Whitney Maddox,” he went on, effortlessly filling the silence. “Jo’s told me about the months she spent with you last winter. She said you raise some of the most beautiful Trakehners she’s ever worked with.”
“Oh. Yes!” Whitney shook her head. Phillip was a famous horseman and her Trakehner horses were a remarkably safe subject. “Joy was mine—Pride and Joy.”
“The stallion who took gold in the World Equestrian Games?” Phillip smiled down at her and she realized he still had her hand. “I don’t have any Trakehners. Clearly that’s something I need to rectify.”
She looked at Jo, feeling helpless and more than a little guilty that Jo’s intended was making her blush. But Jo just laughed.
“Too much,” Jo said to Phillip as she looped her arm through his. “Whitney’s not used to that much charm.” She looked at Whitney. “Sorry about that. Phillip, this is Whitney. Whitney, this is Phillip.”
Whitney nodded, trying to remember the correct social interaction. “It’s a pleasure. Congratulations on getting married.”
Phillip grinned at her, but then he thankfully focused that full-wattage smile on Jo. “Thanks.”
They stared at each other for a moment, the adoration obvious. Whitney looked away.
It’d been a long time since a man had looked at her like that. And, honestly, she couldn’t be sure that Drako Evans had ever looked at her quite like that. Their short-lived engagement hadn’t been about love. It had been about pissing off their parents. And it had worked. The headlines had been spectacular. Maybe that was why those headlines still haunted her.
As she rubbed Betty’s ears, Whitney noticed the dinner table was set for four. For the first time since she’d arrived, she smelled food cooking. Lasagna and baking bread. Her stomach rumbled.
“So,” Phillip said into the silence. His piercing blue eyes turned back to her. “Matthew will be here in about forty minutes for dinner.”
Which did nothing to answer the question she’d asked Jo earlier. “Matthew is...who?”
This time, Phillip’s grin was a little less charming, a little sharper. “Matthew Beaumont. My best man and younger brother.”
Whitney blinked. “Oh?”
“He’s organizing the wedding,” Phillip went on as if that were no big deal.
“He’s convinced that this is the PR event of the year,” Jo said. “I told him I’d be happy getting married by a judge—”
“Or running off to Vegas,” Phillip added, wrapping his arm around Jo’s waist and pulling her into a tight embrace.
“But he insists this big wedding is the Beaumont way. And since I’m going to be a Beaumont now...” Jo sighed. “He’s taken control of this and turned it into a spectacle.”
Whitney stared at Jo and Phillip, unsure what to say. The Jo she knew wouldn’t let anyone steamroll her into a grandiose wedding.
