Remember Me, Cowboy. C.J. Carmichael

      As it was pounding now, in a much less pleasant way.

      Laurel squeezed Winnie’s hand, staying close to her friend, who’d started to tremble. They followed Cassidy out the door of the antechamber into the vestibule. Two wide doors stood open to the church where all the guests awaited. Chatter filled the air, along with the Beethoven.

      And then, abruptly, the organ stopped and everyone turned, expecting to see the bride. A collective gasp washed over the room when Sheriff Moody stepped forward, instead. With a grim expression she said, “I need to talk to someone from the Lambert family.”

      A brief hesitation, then B.J. stood, tall and lean in his charcoal suit and tie. “Savannah.” His grim expression grew darker. “What happened?”

      Olive made her way to her feet and said what everyone in the room was fearing. “Has there been an accident?”

      The silence intensified as one second stretched

      into two.

      “I’m sorry, Olive. But yes. There’s been an a-accident.” The sheriff’s voice broke on the last word and Laurel could feel Winnie wobble on the delicate heels of her wedding shoes. On cue, Cassidy came up on the bride’s other side and helped Laurel hold her steady.

      Sheriff Moody looked from B.J. to the bride, then finally back to Olive. “Jackson’s SUV hit a moose on Big Valley Road, about five miles from town.”

      The name of the road meant nothing to Laurel. She was holding her breath, praying again, not with sharp annoyance as she had at the airport, but with total desperation. Please let them be okay. Just a few cuts and bruises, she bargained, maybe a broken leg or two.

      “Brock?” Winnie locked her gaze on the sheriff, who slowly shook her head.

      “I’m so sorry, Winnie. Brock was sitting in the front passenger seat—the impact point with the moose. He didn’t have a chance.”

      Winnie made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a cry, then pulled her hands free from the supportive hold of Laurel and Cassidy and covered her face.

      Laurel wrapped her arms around her friend, her mind slipping away to the party they’d had, just last night. She and Corb had been dancing. They’d had a few beers. The lights were low and her body had tingled at the touch of his hands on her waist and shoulder. When she’d stumbled, Corb said, “Tired? Let me walk you home, sugar.”

      He’d done more than just walk her home. A lot more. Never in her life had she fallen for somebody this hard. This fast.

      “What about Corb?” B.J.’s voice was stretched tighter than a barbed wire fence. “And Jackson?”

      “Jackson was driving, wearing his seat belt and the air bag was able to cushion him from the worst of it. He’s badly bruised and shaken, but he’s okay.”

      And Corb?

      “Your other brother was in the backseat. He should have been fine, but I’m afraid he wasn’t wearing his seat belt. As we speak he’s being medevaced to Great Falls. I can’t say how bad his injuries are. You’ll have to talk to the doctors for that.”

      “Is he conscious?” Olive asked, her voice rough, eyes desperate.

      The sheriff shook her head. “No.”

      Chapter One

      Two Months Later

      Laurel was making the rounds of the Cinnamon Stick Café with a fresh carafe of coffee, when she noticed Maddie Turner’s mug needed refreshing. She paused to serve the stocky, gray-haired rancher, who glanced up from the papers she was reviewing to give her a smile.

      “Thanks, Laurel. Could you get me another cinnamon bun, too, please?”

      “You bet, Maddie.” After two months of running the Cinnamon Stick while Winnie convalesced on her parents’ farm, Laurel was a fixture with all the regulars. And Maddie Turner, owner of the Silver Creek Ranch, sure did love her baked goods.

      When she’d first started working at the café, Laurel had drooled over the cinnamon buns, too. Now, just the sight of one of the frosted goodies made her queasy. Laurel tried not to inhale as she plated one of the buns, then passed it to Maddie.

      Back behind the counter, she put on a fresh pot of coffee. As she filled the carafe with water from the tap, her gaze was drawn out the window to the line of willow trees that grew between the café and the creek for which the town was named.

      Another lovely September day. She wished she had time to get out and enjoy the sunshine, but, as usual, she was being run off her feet.

      When Winnie told her, ten months ago, that she’d fallen in love with a cowboy and was going to move to Coffee Creek to open her café, Laurel had thought how quaint.

      Now she knew better. The café was charming to look at, the food was devilishly delicious, but the work? It was damned hard. The first month she’d had so much to learn, she’d been running all day long. Then, when she’d finally found her rhythm, she’d caught some sort of bug that she still hadn’t managed to shake.

      What she needed was rest, but she wouldn’t complain. How could she, in the face of what Winnie was going through? Thank heavens for Eugenia, Vince and Dawn, Winnie’s regular staff. Without their help, and willingness to work extra hours, she could never have kept Winnie’s café afloat while her friend struggled to deal with the double whammy of losing her fiancé and dealing with what had turned out to be a difficult pregnancy.

      Laurel still couldn’t believe what had happened.

      Imagine losing your fiancé on the day of your wedding. Actually being in the church, in your gown, waiting... Laurel felt sick every time she thought back to that day.

      In the awful hours following the grim news, she’d canceled her flight back to New York, and she’d promised Winnie she would stay in Coffee Creek as long as she was needed, never guessing she’d still be here two months later.

      But with Winnie laid up in bed on doctor’s orders, what choice had she had? She couldn’t let Winnie lose her business as well as the man she’d been planning to share her life with.

      With a long sigh, Laurel replaced the coffee carafe in the machine. Maddie, finished with her paper and her coffee, waved as she made her way out of the café and into the ancient Ford truck angle-parked out in front. Laurel was clearing her table when Vince Butterfield, Winnie’s baker, came out from the kitchen.

      She couldn’t believe it was eleven o’clock already. “Time to call it a day?”

      He nodded, never one to use a word when a gesture would do.

      “See you tomorrow, Vince.”

      He tipped his head in her direction, just half of a nod this time, then made his way out the back door.

      Laurel still found it amazing that this man—a weathered and scarred ex-bronc rider who looked about ten years older than his real age of sixty-two—was responsible for the bakery’s rich cinnamon buns, mouthwatering bumbleberry pies and buttery dinner rolls. He came in every morning, except Sunday, at four in the morning and worked his magic for seven hours before getting on his bike and riding out to his trailer ten miles from town.

      Winnie had confided some details of his past to Laurel—a former rodeo cowboy with a drinking problem, he liked the early hours at the bakery since they left him too exhausted to stay up much past eight in the evening. Early to bed meant no late nights at the bar, which meant no more drinking.

      “He figures this job saved his life,” Winnie told her. Laurel wondered how Winnie knew so much about him. The man had never said more than three words in a row to her, and those had been, “nice meetin’ ya.”

      The door chimed and Laurel glanced up to welcome her next customer. The smile forming on her face froze the minute she saw him.

      Corb Lambert.