through the stained-glass windows of the sanctuary, temporarily blinding her. She blinked and swallowed against a rising wave of nausea and the crazy urge to call a halt to the entire ceremony.
I object!
If Crystal and April weren’t sane enough to do it themselves, then she needed to step up. To preserve her own sanity.
Her lips parted. Her tongue moved. Her voice box squeaked—
The sound of a throat clearing cut her off before she could blurt out the first word. Her gaze snapped up and collided with the best man who stood directly across from her.
Cole Unger Chisholm, pro rodeo’s biggest and best saddle-bronc rider, narrowed his gaze as if to say “Stay out of it,” and her own gaze narrowed.
She clamped her lips shut and frowned. He had a lot of nerve. He was the crazy one. The impulsive wild card who prided himself on doing the outlandish. From standing upright on a bucking bronc during the last few seconds of his ride, to flipping off reporters when they got a little too close, Cole was the quintessential bad boy. The last one left now that the rest of the infamous Lost Boys were officially off the market.
He was the one more likely to make a scene and blow the ceremony. He was outlandish. Unpredictable.
And damned good-looking.
He wore a black tuxedo jacket that outlined his broad shoulders. A crisp white shirt, starched Wranglers and spit-polished black cowboy boots completed the outfit. His usually long and unkempt brown hair had been pulled back to tone down the bad boy look, but the shadow covering his jaw killed the effort. He still looked like every woman’s wet dream. The perfect man for a one-night stand.
If Nikki had been into one-night stands.
She wasn’t, even if she had entertained a few choice fantasies about Mr. Saddle-bronc champion. But those were her own most private thoughts. It wasn’t as if she meant to act on them. Ever. Which was the main reason she was about to freak fifty ways to Sunday.
Despite her own reputation as a bona fide bad girl, she wasn’t the real deal like her two older sisters. She hated late nights and loud music and too much booze. Three very important truths she’d managed to hide from her mother up to this point because Raylene’s attention had always been fixated on the older girls. They’d been her pride and joy. Two chips off the old block.
Until now.
“...marriage is a joyous union between two souls that marks the beginning of a new life together...” the minister went on, and reality weighed down on Nikki.
Crystal, her oldest sister and the one everyone had expected to follow in Raylene’s footsteps and take over the honky-tonk, was getting married, of all things. Ditto for April. They’d both given up their wild and wicked ways, and their jobs as head bartender and chief bar maid, to pledge their undying devotion. Even more, they were packing up and moving to a ranch over an hour away, and Nikki would be the only one left to help Raylene.
No more hiding out in the kitchen, plotting her culinary future while she whipped up the typical bar food—everything from chicken wings to nachos. No more studying her butt off in the back room while her mom and sisters kept the party going out front. No more applying for sous-chef positions with a handful of Houston’s top restaurants.
She was the only daughter left now. Her mother’s last hope.
She swallowed again and tried to ignore the churning in the pit of her stomach. A drop of sweat tickled its way down Nikki’s right temple. The razor burn on her legs prickled.
“...take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband...”
She blew out a deep breath and inhaled again. Her nostrils burned with the sickeningly sweet scent of flowers coupled with the half gallon of sickly sweet eau de gag me Margie Waltrip, Lost Gun’s one and only wedding coordinator, had sprayed her with prior to the walk down the church aisle. Her stomach pitched and rolled.
“...and do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife...”
Easy. Just breathe. In. Out. In. Out.
“...by the power vested in me, I pronounce each of you man and wife. Husbands, you may kiss your brides!”
She was not going to throw up, despite the blinding light and the overwhelming smell and her mother’s hopeful stare.
Rather, she was going to paste a smile on her face and waltz back up the aisle with the rest of the wedding party.
Or waddle, which was about all she could manage in the huge dress.
And then she was going to find her way out of the maze of tulle and flowers, hunt down the church’s nearest exit and run for her life.
* * *
SHE DIDN’T WADDLE her way to freedom.
She wanted to. Boy, did she ever. But she couldn’t make a break for it without upsetting her sisters, and so she climbed—at a much slower pace than usual thanks to the layers of fabric—into her beat-up Chevy pickup and followed the line of trucks and SUVs headed out to the Gunner Ranch where the reception was being held.
At the reception, she kept as wide a distance from her mother as possible, and ignored the phone in her pocketbook that vibrated every few minutes with a new text. The most startling of which?
How would you like to be my new bartender?
Ugh.
The last thing she wanted was to serve beers for the rest of her life. She’d spent the past few years dressing like her sisters and putting up a front to stay off her mother’s radar, while secretly pursuing her culinary degree. She’d even managed to stash away a sizable nest egg to tide her over through an internship. She wanted out of here, a chance to live her own life, to fulfill her own dreams.
But first she had to make it through finals in two weeks without losing her focus.
Fat chance if she ended up slinging Coronas side by side with Raylene Barbie.
She ignored yet another text, finished taking the mandatory pictures and darted off toward the buffet line before her mother could pin her down.
She squeezed through the throng of wedding guests stuffed into the massive white tent where the reception was being held. A country band played a soft, twangy version of Willie Nelson’s Always on My Mind.
Seriously? Forget Miranda Lambert’s ballsy Gunpowder and Lead—the Barbie theme song. Her sisters really had gone off the deep end.
All the more reason to cut and run.
Now.
She bypassed the buffet and headed through a nearby tent that had been set up to house the food. After a quick glance to make sure no one was watching, she darted into the tent, and nearly collided with a waiter carrying a tray of crab cakes.
She paused to snag a sample before murmuring “Sorry,” and turned to make her way through the massive square-shaped kitchen. Burners and stoves lined the outer perimeter. The inner area was a maze of preparation tables. People clustered here and there, busily arranging everything
