Rocky Mountain Legacy

“No.”

“No,” Brady copied.

“Auntie will get you a new toy.” Sara clung to her smile, feeling a fool in front of the stranger. Ordinarily she deplored bribery, but this situation called for desperate measures. “Don’t you want a new toy?”

“No.”

“Yes!” Exasperated, Sara extended her fingertips to snag a belt loop on Brett’s tiny blue jeans just as the voice behind her inquired:

“I don’t suppose either of them likes candy?”

“Candy?” Brett surged up so fast his head hit Sara’s chin, knocking her teeth together. He dropped the tulle he’d pulled down, almost forcing her off balance as he launched himself through the narrow passage. “I like candy. Candy’s good.”

“Sometimes it’s very good.” The voice behind Sara sounded amused by the bundle of nonstop energy. “Gotcha. But we can’t have candy without your brother. Can you sit very still and wait for him?”

“Brett’s a good boy.”

“You sure are,” the visitor agreed. “I wonder how good your brother is.”

The man knew kids. Brady’s frown deepened. He glared at Sara as if she’d maligned his character. Or tried to steal his treat.

“Brady’s good, too!” He dropped to all fours, crawled between Sara’s feet and out the door.

“Got him, too,” the masculine voice triumphed. “You can come out now.”

Sara wasn’t sure she wanted to. Not if it meant another half hour of trying to pry grimy fingers off the pristine bridal dresses displayed all over the foyer.

“I assure you, it’s safe.” Laughter colored the edge of their visitor’s low-throated rumble. “For now, anyway.”

“I’m coming.” She rubbed one finger against her throbbing skull and found her way blocked. “Would you step back? It’s very narrow here.”

“Sure is.” He jostled the door against a tulle-covered arch laced with nodding sunflowers. The arch jiggled, then shifted. That knocked off the bride’s arm. It clattered to the floor along with her bouquet of dried autumn wildflowers.

The resulting mess was a far cry from Woodward’s usually chichi displays, but fixing it now was out of the question. Sara could only hope she’d get time to rectify matters before the family noticed.

Dream on. When had the family not noticed anything that affected Weddings by Woodwards?

“Something wrong? Need help?”

“I can manage.”

There was no point wishing their visitor wouldn’t witness her backward, very uncool duckwalk out of the passage. Free at last, Sara clicked the lock closed, frustrated and fed up with the way her life wasn’t going.

“Winifred Woodward?”

Did she look almost eighty?

“No.” Sara bent to straighten her black skirt, buying time to regain the composure Denver’s hottest wedding store and its employees were known for. “But if you need help with a wedding, you’re in the right place. Weddings by Woodwards takes pride in planning weddings that are unique to every bride and groom we serve.”

The stock phrase slipped easily to her lips. Good thing, because when Sara glanced up at the owner of that coffee-and-cream voice, her throat jammed closed.

“Kidding.” He winked at her. “I was kidding. I could tell when I walked past the windows that you aren’t Mrs. Woodward.”

Meaning he knew her grandmother?

Sara took stock of her visitor. Slightly older than the usual Woodwards’ groom, he stood nearly six feet tall. The mass of unruly mahogany curls cut close against his scalp could have given him a rakish look—except for the plump baby fingers threading through them.

“I’ll take him.” She reached out for Brady who glared at her and clutched his rescuer all the tighter. “Or not.”

“He’s fine.” The visitor wore black tooled-leather boots, fitted jeans and a battered leather jacket that almost screamed “wild west.” Evidently her nephew thought the same.

“Cowboy,” Brady said, trailing his grubby paws against the leather. “Horsie?”

“Not here, pal.” The man chuckled as he tousled Brady’s hair. “But I have some at home on my ranch.”

“Horsies are good. Candy’s good.”

Sara’s rescuer burst into deep-throated laughter that filled the two-story foyer.

“Not very subtle, are you, son?”

This cowboy was movie-star material. Substitute his leather and jeans for a wedding tux, and any bride would race down the aisle. On closer scrutiny, Sara glimpsed an indefinable quality to those blue eyes that branded this man as more substantial than a mere movie star. The twins recognized it, too, because they remained perfectly still, staring at him.

“Thank you for helping. They’re a bit of a handful.”

“I can imagine.” His face was all sharp angles. Etched lines carved out the corners of his eyes, as if he’d known sadness and grief too often. His sapphire stare captivated Sara, pushed past her barriers and peered inside, as if to expose the secrets she kept hidden from the world.

Or maybe it was all in her mind.

“I have an appointment to speak with Winifred Woodward.” He eased Brady’s grip from his hair and lowered the boy so his feet rested on the floor. “There you go, buddy.”

An icon in the wedding-planning business, Grandma Winnie was always fielding so-called appointments of people who simply wanted to meet the matriarch of Weddings by Woodwards. Winnie, sweet woman that she was, would never refuse them. That’s why Sara had come home.

Recent exhaustion had lowered Winnie’s ability to fight a cold and, according to the family, her grandmother needed complete rest to recover. Sara’s job was to fill in wherever she was needed at Woodwards.

Today that meant manning the reception desk.

And babysitting.

“Your name?”

“Cade Porter.”

“You weren’t in her appointment book, Mr. Porter.” Sara knew because she’d canceled or rebooked all Winnie’s appointments last week, the day after she’d returned to Denver.

“Nevertheless, I do have an appointment.” Dark brows climbed, daring her to dispute it. “Would you direct me to her office please?”

“I’m afraid that isn’t going to be possible.”