A Cowboy's Christmas Wedding. Pamela Britton

they pulled to a stop in front of a cute little place that had obviously been converted from a single-story house into a florist shop, she smiled brightly and asked, “You’re coming in with me, right?”

      His eyes widened, his face rearranging itself into that of a man who’d just been told he would receive a tetanus shot. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

      He wore his black cowboy hat again, and to be honest, it really did make his eyes look ridiculously pretty. They were so light. So startling in color. It wasn’t fair that eyes such as his should be wasted on such a sourpuss of a man.

      “You should come. You’re Alana’s best friend. You know her better than I do.”

      Nope. Not a happy camper. Good.

      “Fine.”

      Fine, she mimicked in her own head, happy to escape the truck.

      The low-slung home had been painted purple, sparkly Christmas lights surrounding the perimeter of a large picture window in front. Inside she could see refrigerators full of flowers and large plants everywhere. When she opened the door, her nose picked up the scent of eucalyptus and roses. It made her smile for some silly reason.

      “I just love roses,” she said, looking into his handsome face and seeing his frown. “Do you think Alana likes them, too?”

      “No.”

      Terrific. Maybe this hadn’t been such a bright idea, after all.

      “Ooo-kay... So what kind of flowers does she like?”

      She saw him peek around the shop, saw his gaze settle on some giant Christmas baskets wrapped in cellophane, then move on to a basket of flowers with giant red mums and light green fern.

      “There.” He pointed. “Sort of like those.”

      Okay. It was a start.

      “Can I help you?” asked a perky-looking blonde with ultrashort hair that featured a streak of red nearly the same shade as the flowers.

      “Actually, yes.” Saedra approached the front counter. “I need to order flowers for a wedding.”

      The woman smiled brightly. “Okay, great. We have a book right here of arrangements if you want to look it over.” She pulled what appeared to be a photo album from behind the counter. “When is the wedding?”

      The moment of truth. “Um. In a couple weeks.”

      Lips painted ruby-red dropped open revealing a pierced tongue that caught Saedra’s attention. Then she said, “You’re kidding, right?”

      Saedra winced. “Um, no.”

      “How many arrangements were you thinking?”

      “How many can you squeeze in?” Cabe asked for her.

      “How big is the bridal party?” the clerk asked.

      “Not big.” Saedra smiled encouragingly. “We need a bouquet for the bride and something for the maid of honor and a groomsman, and maybe some flowers for centerpieces and whatnot.”

      The words seemed to kill the deal because the woman shook her head. “Under normal circumstances it wouldn’t be an issue, but we’ve been slammed. One of the biggest businesses in town is having a huge Christmas party for their employees, and we have our regular orders, plus a few other parties. Sorry. But I really don’t think we can do it.”

      Saedra told herself not to panic. There was still the one other florist in town, and if that failed, the local grocery store.

      “All right, thanks.”

      On her way to the door, she stopped at a display of Christmas ornaments, tiny angels dangling from bright red strings, glass balls covered with glitter, twinkling lights glinting off it all.

      “Aren’t those pretty?”

      Cabe had already left the shop. She felt her own mouth drop open, watched as he climbed into his black truck, before glancing back at the tree. How sad that Christmas no longer held any joy for him. No wonder he was always in a grumpy mood.

      “You might try Reynolds Florist shop on Second Street,” the clerk said.

      “Thanks. I’ll do that.”

      A half hour later, she knew it was useless. “Maybe I could pick some wildflowers,” she muttered. “I’m sure there’s some up in the hills, right?”

      “You’ll have to get them from Reno or Susanville.”

      “Why? Wildflowers don’t grow locally?” she teased.

      He blinked, glanced down at her, then frowned. “I meant the flowers.”

      “You don’t like my wildflowers idea?”

      “There’s no wildflowers up in the hills this time of year.”

      No sense of humor, either. What a mess. At least she had some experience with his type of problem. Her best friend, Trent, had been in a similar frame of mind after the accident that had claimed the life of their mutual best friend, Dustin, and nearly taken Trent’s own life, too. Trent had only learned to walk again with Alana’s help, which was how they’d all met, only Trent seemed light-years ahead of Cabe emotionally.

      “So maybe we can make a bridal bouquet out of papier-mâché?”

      Blank stare.

      “Or Christmas bows.” She sat up straighter. “Speaking of that, I wonder if Alana wants a bachelorette party? You know of any good strip clubs?”

      She was just joking, of course, hoping to get a rise out of him. He just started the truck and asked, “Where to next?”

      “Hell in a handbasket?”

      He glared.

      “I guess the local rental place.” She kept from rolling her eyes, but only just barely. “There is a rental place around here, isn’t there?”

      “There is.” He put the truck in gear. “Doubt they rent tents.”

      Cabe the Cheerless. Her new nickname for him.

      “Maybe they rent holiday cheer.”

      He about gave himself whiplash. “Excuse me?”

      “Kidding, kidding.” She lifted a hand. “Drive on, Jeeves.”

      * * *

      FANCIED HERSELF A COMEDIAN, did she? Too bad he didn’t feel much like laughing—at least not while she was around.

      “Is there a place that sells meat by the bulk, too? I was thinking I could cook a tri-tip dinner.”

      The sun had sunk below the horizon, reminding Cabe of the time. Would the rental place even be open? Just after five and already the sun was down. He hated this time of year.

      “There’s a local butcher’s shop. He might have some ideas.”

      “Good. We could go there, too.”

      He nearly closed his eyes. He had no idea what the hell was wrong with him, but every time she was near he had the darnedest time concentrating on anything but her shapely curves. It was as if he’d been injected with teenage hormones, and frankly, he didn’t like it. Not one bit.

      “Anyplace else you’d like to see?”

      “Weeell, the Eiffel Tower and maybe Westminster Abbey, but I figure I’ll get to Europe someday. No need to go now.”

      She was jerking his chain again, of course, and he wished he knew why the heck her sense of humor always drove him nuts, too. Between his inability to keep his mind off how good she smelled, and her caustic quips, he would have liked to turn the truck around and go home.

      “What about a craft store?” She stared at some sort of list she’d written up. “Do you have