A Cowboy's Christmas Proposal. Cathy Mcdavid

jokes. Of course, they hadn’t paid a fee for his services. His job at Sweetheart Ranch included compensation in the form of room and board and childcare, and he’d do well to take it seriously. Molly was giving him sound advice.

      “Maybe we should try a dry run,” he said. “Will we have time before the ceremony?”

      “I won’t.” She debated a moment. “There’s a full-length mirror in the groom’s dressing room off the chapel. You might practice reciting your lines in front of that.”

      “Good idea.”

      “Be done by four thirty sharp. That’s when the wedding party’s arriving. Oh, and stick close after the ceremony to meet guests. Also plan on attending the reception if the couple invites you. You don’t have to stay past the toast.”

      Any more requirements and he’d need a list to keep track. “Where will you be?”

      “Hovering in the background in case there’s a problem and praying everything goes well.”

      The load on her shoulders was growing heavier. He could say the same for himself.

      Had he made a mistake by agreeing to substitute for Uncle Homer? In any case, it was too late now to back out.

      * * *

      “HELLO! PLEASE COME IN.” Molly welcomed the bride and her entourage, ushering them through the foyer. “We’re so happy to have you.”

      “We need to hurry,” the bride exclaimed, her face flushed with excitement. “My fiancé’s ten minutes behind us. I don’t want him to see me before the ceremony.”

      “Follow me.” Molly escorted them down the hall.

      The bride, her hair arranged in an upsweep, juggled several bags and cases, including one for cosmetics and one for shoes. A middle-aged woman wearing a tasteful mother-of-the-bride dress carried a voluminous garment bag raised high so as not to drag on the floor. The maid of honor also carried a garment bag, hers considerably less voluminous but guarded with equal care.

      As the group passed by the chapel on their way to the bride’s dressing room, Molly crossed her fingers, willing the bride not to notice the orange roses.

      “Mom, look at the flowers!”

       Uh-oh.

      “They’re gorgeous,” her mother gushed and everyone came to a standstill. “Absolutely stunning.”

      They were? More oohing and aahing followed, and Molly breathed a little easier.

      “Just like you,” the mother said, her eyes misting as she reached out a hand to pinch her daughter’s chin. Molly doubted these were the first tears shed today, nor would they be the last.

      At the dressing room door, she stopped and handed the bride a small black pager. “If you need me, just press the green button.” A matching device was clipped to her pocket.

      “We hate to bother you right from the start...” The maid of honor tilted her head appealingly. “Do you have any food we can snack on? We’re not particular.”

      “I haven’t eaten all day,” the bride admitted. “I’ve been too nervous.”

      Her mother laid a hand on her shoulder. “We can’t have her passing out from hunger.”

      “No problem.” Molly smiled graciously. “I’ll bring something right away.”

      “Low-cal, please.” The bride patted her waist. “I can’t afford to gain a single ounce if I hope to fit into my dress.”

      Molly ducked out of the room.

      There were plenty of leftovers from the open house. She’d prepare a selection of fresh fruit and yogurt dip and finger sandwiches. That should satisfy the bride.

      Molly hurried through the parlor, now empty except for Nora’s granddaughter Tracee who was pushing a vacuum. Every last trace of the open house had been removed and the buffet freshly set for the reception.

      Right now, Sweetheart Ranch didn’t offer catering services beyond a cake, nonalcoholic punch and a continental breakfast. If couples chose, they could bring their own champagne and hors d’oeuvres. One day, if the ranch did well and turned a decent profit, they hoped to offer light catering. Bridget was already planning ahead.

      One step at a time, Molly told herself. For now, guests would come to the main house between 7:00 a.m. and 11:00 a.m. for some of Bridget’s incredible homemade croissants, breads, pastries and jams. Yet another ranch specialty was a honeymoon breakfast prepared to order for the couple the morning after their wedding and delivered to their cabin as late as noon. Until then, they wouldn’t be disturbed.

      “Hey, the bride’s here,” Molly announced upon entering the kitchen. “She and the others are in the dressing room. The groom’s on his way.”

      “Our first wedding. Now we’re really and truly open for business.” Bridget fussed over the cake, adding a tiny flower here and smoothing a patch of icing there.

      Molly removed a clean platter from the rack and began loading it with leftovers.

      “Hungry?” Nora asked.

      Temporarily relieved of her babysitting duties, the older woman had returned to the house for a short break and a quick bite. She’d be back on the clock, so to speak, during the wedding when she’d resume care of Owen’s children.

      “This is for the bride and her entourage,” Molly explained. “They’re hungry and requested a snack.”

      “You must be happy. The open house was a huge success.”

      “Are you kidding? I’m thrilled. Not a single hitch.” Molly couldn’t believe their good fortune.

      “You two worked your tails off.” Nora tore off a piece of her quesadilla. “Have you talked to your grandmother yet? I bet she’s bursting with pride.”

      “For two minutes. I promised to call her later when we weren’t so busy.”

      More people had attended the open house than expected. Along with potential clients researching wedding venues, several locals had shown up to lend their support. There had also been a large number of curious folks who’d heard or read about the ranch and wanted to see for themselves.

      During a free moment, Molly had sought out their neighbor, the owner of Powell Ranch, and proposed an idea of cross-promoting. He’d seemed interested and had told her to call him later in the week. The owner of the Poco Dinero Bar and Grill had heard them chatting and asked Molly to include her as well.

      The best part had been the many compliments and well wishes. By the time the crowd had started thinning at around three thirty, Molly was walking on air. With everyone gone, however, exhaustion had set in. She longed to rest her aching feet but at the pace she was going, that wasn’t likely.

      She loaded strawberries, blackberries, apple slices and finger sandwiches on the platter while Nora prattled on about the open house. At the mention of Owen’s name, Molly paused.

      “He quite enjoyed himself,” Nora said.

      “He’s prejudiced.”

      “Why do you say that?”

      “The TV reporter made a big fuss over him. Did a whole seven-minute segment with him alone.” Molly would have quite enjoyed herself, too.

      “Can you blame her?”

      “He’s just the minister. A temporary, online minister at that. Bridget and I are the owners, and we only got three-minute interviews.”

      “You timed the reporter?” Bridget asked in amazement.

      “I happen to glance at the mantel clock.” Molly waved her sister away. “The point is we’re Sweetheart Ranch. You and I. Owen is hired help.”

      “Maybe