The Maverick's Bridal Bargain. Christy Jeffries

windblown papers, he wasn’t much for entertaining guests or making small talk. Racking his brain, he asked himself what his aunt Rita would do if she were home. “Can I get you a drink?”

      Vivienne rotated her slender wrist to glance at her watch. “Actually, if you wouldn’t mind me using the restroom, I could try to clean myself up a little before they get here.”

      “No problem,” he said, taking the tall vase from her. “Follow me.”

      He slowed his pace so that she could better follow him without getting one of her heels stuck in the driveway. His uncle and aunt’s sprawling log ranch house was pretty big, but with Cole’s dad and brothers living there temporarily, he couldn’t vouch for the cleanliness of anyone else’s bathroom but his own.

      He said as much as he led her down the hallway toward the girls’ wing. Then, because he didn’t want her getting the wrong idea about where he was taking her, he added, “We have to walk through here to get to the Jack-and-Jill-style bathroom.”

      “This is your bedroom?” she asked, her gaze focused on the fierce pink sign on the door ordering all boys to keep out.

      “Originally, the two rooms on this side of the house belonged to my cousins Kristen and Kayla before they got married. So I can’t take credit for the decor. All the frills and ruffles and throw pillows were here when I moved in.”

      “That’s good to know.” Vivienne’s playful smile sent an electrical current through his gut. “I had you pegged for more of a roses-and-chintz type of guy, so the daisy quilt and eyelet curtains threw me off for a second.”

      “Roses? Me? And here I thought I was sending out a strong tulip vibe.” He grinned back at her and then continued on toward the bathroom.

      “I think it’s sweet that your masculinity isn’t threatened by a few pastels and floral prints.”

      “Listen, I slept in much worse conditions when I was deployed in the Marine Corps.”

      She didn’t respond, so he turned back to see if she was still following him. Vivienne had paused right outside the bathroom door, her head tilted. “You were in the Marines?”

      “You seem surprised,” Cole replied.

      “In my line of work, I try to never be too surprised about anyone.” She crossed over the threshold and set her muddy binder down on the tile counter. “Although, I had assumed that you were just a cowboy.”

      “Just a cowboy?”

      “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant like a full-time job. Your brother Zach mentioned that he’s been so busy working here with your uncle and helping your father find a new ranch. I saw the picture of you with your brothers dressed up in—” she gestured toward his daily uniform of boots, jeans and a flannel shirt “—all that cowboy gear and I figured that you guys all worked together.”

      “Some of us work harder than others,” he said as he winked. Then he wanted to kick himself for flirting when nobody was even around to witness it. Well, nobody except Vivienne, who seemed way too serious and professional to engage in harmless bantering. Still, she had made the first joke, so maybe he’d read her wrong. “If it’s any consolation, you were right and I’m now a full-time cowboy.”

      “So then you’re not a Marine anymore?”

      “Well, you know what they say. Once a Marine, always a Marine.” He saw the confusion creasing the smooth skin of her forehead. “I put in my time and was honorably discharged.”

      “Oh. How long did you serve?” Vivienne focused on him when almost any woman he knew would’ve already directed her full attention to her own reflection in the nearby mirror, worrying how she would get all that dirt off her pretty dress.

      Cole was surprised by how natural it would’ve felt to hitch his hip up onto the countertop and shoot the breeze with her. Five minutes ago, he’d been dreading talking to her about anything more substantial than whether she preferred ice in her sweet tea. Yet the lady who had at first appeared to be all business now seemed completely at ease making small talk in such close and personal quarters.

      Unfortunately, his departure from the Corps and the circumstances surrounding it brought back the painful memory he would never be comfortable talking about with anyone, let alone a stranger—no matter how attractive she was.

      Instead, he did what he always did when he wanted to avoid something. He winked and made a wisecrack. “You’d need to have security clearance to get that type of information out of me.”

      Vivienne’s hand rested casually on the edge of the sink as she faced him and wiggled her eyebrows. “As the wedding planner, you’d be amazed at some of the insider intel I can access.”

      His glance dipped down to the V of her dress as he considered how far she might go in her fact-finding mission. A throbbing of awareness below his belt buckle yanked him back to reality. When he dragged his eyes up to meet hers, she was staring at him in a way that made him feel completely exposed.

      Cole purposely broke eye contact by reaching for a couple of pink washcloths in the cabinet before handing one to her. “Why’s that?”

      “In addition to organizing everything, my job is to be part psychologist, part coach, part fortune teller and a full-time mediator. I have to get all the data I can about not only the couple, but also their friends and their families, to prepare for a multitude of possibilities.”

      “But it’s just a wedding. What could possibly go wrong?” he asked as he began cleaning the binder in one of the bathroom sinks.

      She used a washcloth at the other sink to wipe the spot of mud on her dress, looking in the mirror as she spoke. “I need to know which uncle—or aunt—is likely to have too much to drink. I have to make sure that there aren’t any bickering cousins sitting together at the head table or any exes coming as someone else’s plus-one. It helps to find out in advance if the father of the bride has any food allergies and what the mother of the groom’s favorite song is for the...” Regret dawned in her eyes and, thankfully, she caught herself just before saying the words mother and son dance.

      But the image was already out there for Cole.

      His mom.

      The woman who’d dreamed of being a dancer on Broadway before she’d fallen in love with a rancher from Montana. The woman who’d taught them all how to do a basic waltz and an electric slide before they were in sixth grade. The woman who used to stop whatever she was doing when the perfect two-stepping beat came on the radio, grab whichever boy was nearest to her and then laugh and sing as she twirled a kid around the house.

      Diana Dalton would never get to dance at any of her sons’ weddings. The thought was like a punch to Cole’s gut.

      “I am so sorry,” Vivienne began, but he held up a palm. Hearing her pity would only make the guilt twist deeper inside of him.

      “Don’t worry about it.” He forced his tense lips into a casual smile, but his reflection revealed that it was more of an uncomfortable grimace. They were looking at each other through the mirror, and even though it wasn’t direct eye contact, it was still too much. He grabbed a towel off the rack behind him, buying himself a few seconds to regain his composure before he turned back.

      Vivienne’s own hands had stilled under the stream, so he shut off the water and passed her the clean binder. His voice sounded normal enough when he said, “Here. Good as new.”

      Then he reached for another brightly colored hand towel and held it out to her. She opened her mouth, but before she could apologize, he cut her off. “Don’t tell my brothers this, but when we moved to the Circle D, I purposely drew the short straw because I’ve always been partial to the color pink anyway.”

      Then, as if to prove that everything was fine, he gave her another wink in the mirror before walking out.