The Bull Rider's Son

They found a parking space right in front of Your-Special-Day.

“Kind of a silly name for a wedding shop.” Cassidy slammed shut her door.

“You remember Valerie Kirkshaw’s wedding last year?” Liberty marched ahead, speaking over her shoulder. “She bought her dress here. On sale. She swears this is the place to go.”

Cassidy did remember the wedding and the dress. Both had been nice.

“She also said they have a huge selection of bridesmaid’s dresses.”

“Great.” Cassidy mustered a smile as they entered the small, tastefully appointed shop. She might not be in the spirit of things, like her mother and sister, but neither would she ruin the day for them.

Thirty minutes sped by surprisingly fast. Liberty stood on a podium in the rear of the store, surrounded by mirrors and wearing her fourth dress. And, for the fourth time, Cassidy gawked in astonishment.

Her cowgirl sister, it seemed, had a penchant for very frilly, very fluffy, very girly wedding dresses, each one more stunning than the last.

Cassidy’s mother circled Liberty, alternating between plucking at the voluminous folds and wiping away another tear. “You look beautiful, honey.”

Indeed, she did. Cassidy’s throat closed with emotion. She’d stopped dreaming of weddings years ago. On the day she’d walked away from Hoyt moments before telling him he was going to be a father. Then and there, she’d decided to dedicate her life to the baby growing inside her.

It wasn’t as if guys ignored her. She’d been asked out, now and again. Usually by cowboys attending the rodeos. Less the last couple of years. She supposed, at thirty-five, she appealed less and less to the competitors, who seemed to be getting younger and younger each year. Perhaps her reputation for being standoffish preceded her.

She and Shane were nearly the same age, and he didn’t think she was past her prime or standoffish. Not if the way his arms had tightened around her waist or the heat flared in his eyes were any indication.

That was new, she thought. He’d never looked at her like that before. If he had, they might have dated more than a few weeks. Then what?

“Cassidy. Your phone.”

“Oh, yeah.” At her mother’s reminder, Cassidy roused herself and activated her phone’s camera. It was her job to take a photo of each dress so Liberty could scrutinize them later. “Smile.”

She snapped a picture, checking it to make sure it was in focus before taking a second and third from different angles.

Four more dresses were selected and tried on with the store clerk’s help and guidance. Cassidy added notes to each picture, including pertinent details such as price and potential alterations.

“What do you have for bridesmaid dresses in pink?” Liberty asked, running her hand over the plastic garment cover of her favorite-thus-far dress.

“Pink!” Cassidy gasped, imagining the horrors ahead of her. “You said nothing about pink.”

“It’s a summer wedding. And the groomsmen are wearing dove grey tuxes.”

“But pink?” Who was this woman impersonating her sister and where had she hidden Liberty?

“Weren’t you listening in the car on the way over?”

No, she hadn’t been.

“Might I suggest a pale rose instead?” the clerk said. “It’s perfect for August.”

Rose had a better ring to it than pink.

The clerk showed them to the racks holding bridesmaid dresses, arranged by style and color.

“Oh, look at this one.” Her mother held up a tea-length creation trimmed with a delicate lace.

Liberty rushed forward. “I love it!”

Cassidy let out an expansive sigh.

While Liberty waited, seated on a velveteen upholstered chair with a seashell-shaped back, the clerk fawned over her. Cassidy and her mother ventured into the dressing room, six rose-colored dresses held high so as not to drag on the floor.

Sliding into the first one, Cassidy waited for her mother to zip her up. When that didn’t happen, she asked, “Something stuck?”

“No.” Her mother sniffed.

Cassidy turned around, holding the narrow straps of the dress to keep them from falling. “What’s wrong, Mom?”

“I’m fine. Just a bit emotional.” Her mother’s smile wobbled. “It’s a big deal when your daughter marries.”

Cassidy supposed it was. Feeling a little emotional herself, she patted her mother’s arm. “Hang in there, Mom.”

“I thought you’d be the first.”

Cassidy managed an awkward shrug, the dress still gaping in the back. “Hoyt and I never discussed the M word.”

“You ever think what might have happened if you’d tracked him down sooner? Before he met his wife.”

“Sure. In the beginning. But I doubt I would have married him.”

“Because he liked to drink?”

“Drink and drive. Let’s not forget that.”

Growing up with an alcoholic father—former alcoholic, the rest of her family was quick to point out—Cassidy had little tolerance for people who imbibed to excess. She particularly had no tolerance for people who then got behind the wheel of a vehicle, as her father had the night he drove his truck into the well house with Cassidy in the front passenger seat.

Finally, her mother zipped up the dress, enclosing Cassidy inside layers upon layers of rose taffeta. “Shane doesn’t drink.”

“And why should that matter to me?”

“I’ve seen him watching you.”

Cassidy tugged on the sides of the dress, adjusting the fit. “He’s just curious is all. I did once date his brother.”

“More than date him. You two had a ch—”

“Mom, not here,” Cassidy said in a terse whisper.

“It could explain Shane’s curiosity.”

“You think he suspects?” Breathing became difficult. The dress’s snug bodice could be responsible. More likely it was her constant anxiety.