The Husband Show. Kristine Rolofson

here.”

      “I guess that’s why my brother isn’t home. He’s gone to an unofficial Willing to Wed wedding.”

      “Yes.” Aurora ignored the charming smile he gifted her with. “Does he know you’re in town?”

      “When you see him, tell him I’m here, would you?”

      “Sure.” But she didn’t know whether to believe he was related to Sam. This man was too handsome, too sure of himself, too accustomed to having his way. Not at all like Sam Hove, who tended to slip quietly into crowds and not attract attention. Both men were dark-haired and tall. And there could be a resemblance around the nose and mouth. Maybe. She didn’t want to stare.

      And she was late, she thought, hurrying to her car. Late, when she should have been early, except that Bill sent an email with the updated designs attached and she’d had to send changes back to him, because it all had to be perfect for tomorrow’s meeting.

      “Thanks again for your help,” he called after her.

      She opened the driver’s door, tossed her bag inside and scooted behind the wheel. The wedding and barn-dance reception was the social event of the season, and she didn’t intend to miss a minute. She’d ordered very good champagne, she’d helped decorate the barn yesterday and today she was going to party.

      After all, she hadn’t been to a wedding since her own. But she wasn’t going to think about that. She was going to think happy thoughts.

      She’d chosen a dress covered with violets for the occasion because the bride had gently hinted that she hoped her two friends would wear either violet or yellow, if that wasn’t too much trouble. Meg was the least fussy bride that ever walked down the aisle. After sixteen years apart from her first love, the rancher Owen MacGregor, Meg had found true love once again with Owen when, last October, he’d finally returned to the town his ancestors founded. It hadn’t taken him long to decide to stay.

      Meg was the kind of woman who didn’t care for shopping and didn’t like a lot of fuss made over her, something that amused her friends. Lucia was the queen of thrift stores and Aurora was no stranger to online shopping and discreet shopping trips to New York.

      “Of course, we’ll wear whatever you want us to,” Lucia had promised, knowing full well that she and Aurora would use every resource to find the perfect outfits.

      “We’ll match the cupcakes,” she’d said, giving Aurora a wink. Lucia was Meg’s best friend, their having met in culinary school, and was the town’s baker. She was baking the wedding cake, plus crate loads of cupcakes so that no one in town would miss out on the wedding dessert. Aurora couldn’t imagine how the woman managed it. Baking was a mystery, and Aurora was on the outside looking in when it came to that particular skill.

      In fact, most of her domestic skills were nonexistent.

      Despite a knack for shopping, Aurora had never dressed to match bakery products before, but in the past four years she’d done a lot of things she’d never done before. She bought a bar, she ran a business, she quilted—quilted, how odd was that!—and she had girlfriends.

      Girlfriends. Imagine.

      Wait until they heard that someone who claimed to be Sam’s brother was in town.

      * * *

      “HURRY,” JAKE SAID.

      “Why?”

      “We’re going to a wedding.”

      “We can’t go to a wedding without being invited,” his prim daughter declared.

      “We’re not actually going to attend the wedding,” he said, hustling her back to the truck. “We’re going to meet your uncle Sam. Unless you can think of what else we can do in a town that’s closed.”

      “We could go back to Lewistown. Or Billings. We could go to the movies.”

      Three logical suggestions, and he didn’t even consider them. He wanted to see Sam. Needed to see Sam. He was so close, and after all these years he didn’t want to wait until tomorrow.

      “We could wait until tomorrow,” his daughter continued. “When we could arrive at a more opportune time.”

      “A more opportune time? Someone should monitor your time spent watching Masterpiece Theatre.”

      “That would be you, I guess.”

      “Got that right.”

      “There’s nothing wrong with Downton Abbey. Are you not aware how popular it is? The whole world—”

      “She’s heading north. Keep your eye on the car.”

      “You’re going to scare her if you follow her. She might even call the police.”

      He sighed. The woman was stunningly beautiful. He’d almost fallen off the sidewalk when he’d opened the door of the bar and she was right there. She had the oval face and flawless skin of a model; those cool blue eyes had assessed him with the aloof attitude that beautiful women often have.

      He had not impressed her, and she didn’t care if he knew it. “I don’t think she scares easily.”

      “She asked me if I was being kidnapped.” Winter made a big show out of making sure her seat belt was fastened correctly.

      “The woman has a big imagination.”

      Winter turned that serious blue-eyed gaze upon him, a look he’d grown used to in the four and a half days since he’d become her father. “She said she’d keep me safe and call the police. No, the sheriff.”

      “That was nice of her,” Jake said, impressed that a stranger would go to the trouble. She would have rescued a little girl and risked missing that important wedding she was in such a hurry to get to.

      “I liked her hair. Maybe I should grow mine long.”

      “You could.” Ah, yes. The hair. Silver-blond and fashionably long and straight. Dangly earrings that appeared to be flowers, the same flowers on her dress. A body that stood out, despite being covered by a puffy vest. Even the ugly suede boots did nothing to detract from the woman’s beauty.

      “She looked like a movie star. Like someone famous.”

      “Maybe she is.” He’d seen that long, silver-blond hair before, he thought. Onstage where he’d performed? No, he couldn’t picture her singing country. Or rockabilly.

      His serious child thought for a moment. “What would she be doing here? Would someone famous own a bar?”

      “Probably not,” he conceded. “Someone famous might own a bar, I guess, but not work there. She looked like she worked there.”

      “I guess.” Then she paused. “I want to go home.”

      “Yes,” he said, keeping his eye on the red Subaru SUV flying along the road. “You’ve said that before.”

      “I don’t want to be on a road trip.”

      “I know.”

      “I don’t know you.”

      “Which is the point of the trip.” He thought about the virtue of patience, and how he’d never known he’d had any until two weeks ago, when he got the phone call from Merry’s lawyers. Another short week came and went and then he’d gassed up the truck and ushered his new daughter into the front seat.

      “I want to go home,” she repeated, this time louder.

      “Which is a problem,” he pointed out, hoping he sounded paternal and calm.

      “You don’t have to rub it in,” she muttered. “I know I’m a problem.”

      “I didn’t mean it like that.” Jake despaired of getting this fatherhood thing figured out. “I meant the fact that you want to go home is a prob—an issue—something to figure