know that you are not alone.
Contents
Note to Readers
As Sarah Turner emerged from the tiny back-room office of the former train depot, Vivienne Shuster Dalton glanced up from a worktable covered in fabric swatches, to-do lists, project folders and open sample books.
“There you are,” said Viv.
“Just giving it all one more look.” Sarah tried for a light tone, but going over the books yet another time hadn’t changed a thing. The news was not good.
“Please tell us you’ve found a solution to our problem.”
If only.
Viv’s business partner, Caroline Ruth Clifton, stood across the worktable from her. Caroline turned her big dark eyes on Sarah and asked hopefully, “We can swing it, right?”
The answer was no.
And for Sarah, whether she was trying to claw her way up the food chain at the biggest accounting firm in Chicago or working in her dad’s little office right here in Rust Creek Falls, Montana, her least favorite part of the job remained the same. She hated telling clients that they were in trouble—especially clients she liked and admired.
Viv and Caroline were a couple of dynamos. They’d even opened a second location down in Thunder Canyon, Montana. Caroline spent most of her time there.
And here in Rust Creek Falls, all the brides flocked to the old train depot to get Viv to create their perfect wedding.
Unfortunately, both the rustic train depot and Viv’s primary local wedding venue—the brick freight house nearby—needed new roofs. All new. They couldn’t just slap a fresh layer of shingles on. Both buildings required tear-outs and rebuilds. Plus, there were structural issues that would have to be addressed. Viv had collected bids. She knew what the work would cost.
It was a lot.
And the wedding planners had already stretched every penny to the limit.
Gently, Sarah laid it out. “I’m sorry. I’ve been over and over the numbers you gave me. The money just isn’t there. You need a loan or an investor.”
“A loan against what?” Viv was shaking her head. “The buildings and the land belong to Cole’s family.” Her husband, Cole Dalton, was a local rancher. Cole and his large extended family owned a lot of the land in the Rust Creek Falls Valley. “I can’t take a loan against my in-laws’ property. We’re doing great, but, Sarah, you already know it’s all on a shoestring—and frankly, I struck out on my own so that I could do this my way.” Viv’s big green eyes shone with sheer determination. “An investor is going to want a say in how we run things.”
“Not necessarily. Some investors just want a percentage of—”
The little bell over the front door cut Sarah off midsentence.
“Good morning, ladies,” boomed a deep male voice. The imposing figure in the open doorway swept off his black Stetson to reveal a thick head of silver hair. “Maximilian Crawford, at your service.” The man plunked his big hat to his heart. Tall and powerfully built, with a handsome, lived-in face and a neatly trimmed goatee and mustache, the guy almost didn’t seem real. He reminded Sarah of a character from one of those old-time TV Westerns. “I’m looking for Vivienne Dalton, the wedding planner,” he announced.
“I’m Viv.” Viv started to step out from behind the worktable.
But Maximilian was faster. In five giant strides, he was at her side. He took Viv’s hand and kissed it. “Such a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard great things.” He turned to Caroline, kissed her hand and then took Sarah’s and brushed his mustache across the back of it, too.
Viv, who’d looked slightly stunned when the older man bowed over her hand, recovered quickly and made introductions.
