The Maverick's Bridal Bargain. Christy Jeffries

three are as good-looking as those two, there are bound to be some more weddings in the works. And I want you to book them.”

      A feeling of incompetence raced through her. They’d been having a similar conversation for the past year. She knew she was supposed to be bringing in more business, but there was something icky about force selling happily-ever-after. Vivienne was of the opinion that her work should speak for itself and happy couples would be more likely to refer their family and friends her way. But before she could argue as much, Estelle passed her a small plastic cage holding a shivering black-and-white guinea pig.

      Their company had done weddings with everything from songbirds to butterfly releases to dogs as flower girls. But they’d never done one with rodents. Vivienne crinkled her nose. “What’s this for?”

      “When I went in for my post-op last week, the doctor told me my blood pressure has been through the roof lately. But with my high cholesterol and thyroid problems, I’m on so much stinkin’ medication right now, the last thing I want to do is shove more pills down my throat. Apparently, there’ve been recent studies about pets helping to ease people’s stress levels, so I thought I’d give it a try.” Estelle used the remainder of her cigarette to light up a new one before crushing the butt under her size-four stiletto. Cutting back a pack a day and not constantly yelling at wedding vendors would probably be more beneficial, but Vivienne knew better than to suggest as much. “Since I’m allergic to cats and I can’t stand the stench of dogs, my only choices at the pet shop were this little guy or a turtle. And I don’t do moldy tanks.”

      Vivienne held the cage up to eye level and peered inside. There was something achingly familiar about the startled fear reflected in the poor animal’s eyes. “So why did you bring him to the office?”

      “The stupid thing is defective. It was up all night long making this weird wheezing sound.” Estelle grabbed two binders off her back seat and hooked her trademark purple tote bag over her bony shoulder. The ash from her cigarette was almost an inch long and hanging on precariously as she headed toward the office door. “I need you to take him back to the pet store. Maybe you can get me the turtle instead.”

      Vivienne was pretty sure the guinea pig wasn’t defective; it was just overwhelmed. After all, Estelle’s nose and lungs had had decades to build up a tolerance to her heavy-handed application of dime-store perfume and her chain-smoking. Usually, Estelle never smoked in front of clients, but since those had been scarcer lately, her boss was lighting up at an alarming rate.

      Vivienne remained outside in the parking lot, setting the cheap plastic cage on the hood of Estelle’s car. She wanted to unlatch the metal door, but she was afraid the thing would run away.

      “What am I going to do with you?” she asked. The guinea pig twitched its nose in response, the whiskers on either side of its face quivering.

      Vivienne wasn’t much of an animal person. Growing up, she’d had only one pet, and that had been short-lived. When her parents divorced the first time, not only had they fought for custody of Vivienne, they’d also fought for custody of Filmore, a fluffy Pomeranian who didn’t understand the concept of every-other-week visitation. Vivienne was at school one day when Filmore snuck out of her dad’s sparsely furnished apartment and tried to make his way back to the house he was used to—the split-level home her mom got in the divorce. He never made it.

      Her mother accused her father of giving the dog to one of his girlfriends, and her father accused her mother of leaving a trail of bacon the entire two miles between his apartment and her house. At first, Vivienne was heartbroken over her lost pet, but a week later, she was getting off the school bus a block away from her mom’s place and saw Filmore in the window of the Petersons’ house. She knew the Peterson girls from school. They were younger, and their parents never screamed at each other on the front lawn like hers did. So Vivienne decided not to say anything, because at least Filmore would get to live with a happy family even if she couldn’t. Every once in a while, she would go over to their house and pretend she was interested in having make-believe tea parties and playing with their babyish pink palace dream house just so that she could visit her dog.

      When her mom and dad eventually got back together, Vivienne asked if they could go over to the Petersons’ and get Filmore. However, her parents were so caught up in each other and making up for lost time that they didn’t want the burden of a pet again.

      Vivienne bit her lower lip as she studied the helpless guinea pig. Maybe she should take him back to her apartment for now. She should also call the pet store and tell them that under no circumstances were they to sell that poor turtle to Estelle. But, first, she had a wedding to put together. Balancing her binder in one arm, she carried the cage into the office.

      The peanut M&M’s were long gone, so she broke off a piece of the granola bar she’d thrown in her purse this morning when she realized she wouldn’t have time for breakfast, then pushed it through one of the slots toward her new friend. The guinea pig cautiously moved forward and sniffed the food before using its tiny paws to shove the whole thing into its cheek. Then Vivienne settled into her chair and got to work.

      She opened the binder to see that a photo had gotten stuck inside one of the divider pockets. And not just any photo. The photo. All five of the Dalton brothers were handsome. And after hearing about the tragedy of losing their mother, Vivienne was fascinated to find out more about them. She told herself she was interested in learning all their stories, but it was really Cole she stared at, Cole’s story she wanted to hear.

      Something inside of her ached. Maybe it was all the romance novels and bridal magazines pulling at her heartstrings. She’d read her fair share of both, and every once in a while she could forget about the bridezillas and the uninterested grooms and the wedding marketing ploys and wonder if there was such a thing as love at first sight.

      Not for her, of course. Having witnessed the whirlwind of her parents’ marriage, Vivienne was smart enough to want to get to know her future husband for at least a few years before she decided if they were compatible.

      She was also smart enough not to get all worked up by a pair of well-worn jeans and a sexy smirk and a honeyed voice calling her ma’am.

      * * *

      A week later at the Circle D, Cole was in one of the corrals exercising his uncle’s injured horse when a Jetta zipped down the driveway toward the ranch house. As the car approached, he recognized Vivienne behind the wheel and his pulse sped up. Paying attention to the driver instead of where he was going, Cole kept walking straight as the horse rounded the turn. Zorro’s front hoof grazed the side of his boot, causing them both to stumble.

      “Easy, boy,” he said more to himself than to the stallion.

      She was wearing some sort of silky floral dress that wrapped around her curves like a second skin, and her high heels had no business navigating the dirt driveway, which was still fairly muddy after a recent spring rain. Balancing that big binder on her hip, Vivienne used her free hand to carry a tall vase. A strong wind caused the side of her dress to flip open and his lungs froze as he was treated to a full view of her shapely thighs. When she tried to pull her dress back into place, she dropped the binder, its contents spilling out everywhere.

      Quickly, Cole secured the lead rope to the mechanical arm of the hot-walker, then hopped over the fence, mentally kicking himself for initially staring at her like a lovesick calf instead of immediately rushing to her aid. On his way, he picked up scattered papers and pictures of cakes and flowers. The dainty images and carefully handwritten lists made his work-roughened hands look big and coarse, and he quickly shoved the stack at her.

      “Thank you,” she said, not noticing that the notebook she’d just pulled to her chest was covered with mud. “I’m supposed to meet Zach and Lydia here at the ranch and then drive over to check out Maverick Manor as an option for a wedding venue. But I’m running a little early.”

      “You’re getting dirt all over your...” He pointed at the mud now covering the neckline of her dress, then slammed his fingers into his front pockets when he realized he was gesturing toward her breasts. When she pulled the binder closer as if she could shield