A Cowboy's Christmas Proposal. Cathy Mcdavid

been striving ever since to become a better version of herself. Hadn’t she accepted Owen as his uncle Homer’s replacement and seen to the comfort of him and his kids? She could have thrown a fit instead.

      Here, she supposed, was another chance to prove she’d changed. “I’m happy for you, Grandma. Truly. Homer’s a nice man.”

      “I was hoping you’d help me plan the party.”

      “Of course I will.”

      “Did Owen arrive yet?” Grandma Em asked, changing the subject.

      “I just finished showing him and the kids to their cabin.”

      Molly headed for the kitchen door rather than track dirt into the recently vacuumed front rooms. She noticed Bridget through the kitchen window and hesitated, not yet ready to face her sister.

      “He’s very handsome, don’t you agree?”

      “Is he?” Molly was purposefully vague, refusing to reveal just how handsome she found him.

      “He and Homer are quite close. I really want him and his children to feel welcomed and part of the family.”

      Was that a subtle chastising from Grandma Em or was she simply attempting to smooth what could be a rocky transition for everyone?

      Uncertain how to respond, Molly said, “Nora’s here, too. She says she’s taking over guest relations. Are you sure that’s a good idea? She can be grumpy.” Except, apparently, when Owen sweet-talked her.

      “She’ll do fine. She was once an executive assistant for the president of A-1 Home Insurance Company. Part of her job was arranging corporate events—charity fund-raisers, holiday parties, annual stockholder meetings.”

      Nora? An executive assistant?

      “Let her do the grunt work,” Grandma said. “You handle the rest.”

      “She needs to smile more.”

      Grandma Em laughed. “She’ll learn. You did.”

      Molly had learned, motivated greatly by having a vested interest in the business and a potentially long-term career for herself.

      “Will you send us pictures of the wedding?” she asked.

      “Prepare to be inundated.”

      Molly’s mood lifted. Her grandmother had found the kind of contentment that thus far had eluded Molly. The least she could do was run the ranch with her sister to the best of her ability for the next month.

      “I love you, Grandma.”

      “I love you, too, sweetie.”

      Molly entered the kitchen and held out her phone to Bridget. “It’s Grandma. She and Homer are in Flagstaff.”

      With a squeal, Bridget scurried out from behind the counter, nearly knocking over a bowl of liquid in the process as she reached for the phone. “Grandma, hi!”

      Molly helped herself to a cold drink, half listening to Bridget’s side of the conversation. She was considerably more enthused for their grandmother than Molly had initially been.

      “Hugs and kisses,” Bridget said when she was done, then returned Molly’s phone. “She sounds ecstatic.”

      “You don’t think she and Homer are rushing things?”

      “Dad asked Mom to marry him on their fifth date and look how that turned out.”

      Molly’s sister made a valid point. If not for the driver running a stop sign, their father might still be alive today and their parents celebrating thirty-three years of wedded bliss.

      Sadly, the driver had run the stop sign. And after sixteen years of loneliness and misery, Molly and Bridget’s mother had recently married again and moved to Casa Grande.

      Doug paled in comparison to their father. While not mean or abusive—Molly and Bridget would never tolerate their mother being mistreated—he was frequently needy and narcissistic and extremely stingy with money. The sisters suspected their mother was just as lonely and miserable now as after their father died. But she refused to divorce Doug, claiming men like her late husband were few and far between.

      She was right, but that didn’t deter Molly and Bridget from trying to find such a man and refusing to settle for less. It wasn’t easy, their mother had been right about that. Molly need only examine her own track record.

      Nora abruptly called from the foyer. “Florist is here!”

      “Go.” Bridget waved Molly away. “I need to start decorating the wedding cake.”

      The delivery man was setting the first arrangement on the table in the parlor when Molly got there. One look and she stopped in her tracks.

      “Those aren’t the right color roses.”

      He checked his delivery schedule, squinting his eyes at the electronic device in his hand. “Ten dozen arrangements in glass vases.”

      Molly approached the table and fingered one of the blooms. “We requested pale peach. These are orange.”

      “Let me call the office.” He pulled out his phone. “I’m at Sweetheart Ranch. The customer says the roses are the wrong color.” After a pause, he passed the phone to Molly, who put it to her ear. “It’s the manager,” he said.

      “Hi. Molly O’Malley here. The roses are supposed to be peach.”

      “Hold on a second while I pull up the record.”

      Molly silently fumed. She knew precisely what the bride had requested. She’d reviewed the order herself.

      “According to my records, I spoke to Emily O’Malley on Thursday morning at ten twenty.” The sound of flipping papers could be heard in the background. “I told her we didn’t have the exact shade of peach you ordered, and she said the darker color would be fine.”

      “I see.” Molly searched her memory. She’d been at the print shop on Thursday morning picking up their new brochures.

      “Is Emily there?”

      “No. She’s out of town.”

      Grandma Em had probably forgotten to mention the call or note the change in the bride’s file. Too many distractions, like her impending elopement and road trip. Molly couldn’t hold the florist responsible.

      “What would you like us to do?” the woman asked, a tinge of impatience in her voice. “We can substitute white or yellow roses.”

      Molly debated her choices while two pairs of eyes watched her, Nora’s and the delivery man’s. The bride had been specific about her wedding colors; white and yellow weren’t included. Then again, neither was orange. Come to think of it, had the bride even been informed about the unavailability of peach roses? Hopefully, yes, but Molly didn’t want to assume. And if Grandma hadn’t informed the bride, news of the orange roses could upset the poor woman who was surely already frazzled.

      Molly’s first problem as fill-in wedding coordinator, and she was stumped.

      “We could call your grandmother,” Nora suggested.

      Not happening, Molly decided. She’d deal with this on her own. “It’s fine,” she told the shop owner. “We’ll take the roses.”

      Once all ten arrangements were brought in, Molly and Nora went about placing them in the chapel. After the service was concluded and photos taken, the roses would then be moved to the parlor for the reception.

      “What do you think of Owen?” Nora asked.

      Why was everyone eager to know Molly’s opinion of him? “He seems nice enough. The better question is how good is he at marrying people?”

      “Gotta admire a man who’d quit his job to spend more time with his kids.”

      Molly