Holding Out for Christmas (The Christmas Tree Ranch #3)(48)
“And you lived happily ever after!” Katy clapped her hands.
“Not quite.” Maggie smiled at her. “Travis was madder than a hornet. He read me the riot act. I left thinking that he was the grumpiest man I’d ever met. But I found out later that he was just concerned about my dangerous driving. So everything worked out in the end.”
“And now you’ll be getting married in the church, wearing a beautiful white dress,” Katy said. “When I marry Daniel, that’s what I want, too.”
A momentary hush fell over the room. Megan exchanged glances with Connie Parker. The families knew, of course, that Katy and Daniel wanted to get married. But Katy had just made their intention public—news that was bound to surprise, even unsettle, some people.
It was Maggie who saved the situation. She reached over and took Katy’s hand. “Katy, dear, you deserve to have exactly what you want,” she said.
Slowly the silence in the room returned to the murmur of polite conversation. “I can’t believe you’re putting this wedding together at the last minute,” one of the women said.
Maggie grinned. “What do you mean by ‘last minute’? I’ve waited more than thirty years for this.”
“Who’s going to be your maid of honor, Maggie?” someone else asked.
Maggie shrugged. “I would have asked Tracy, but she’s going to perform the ceremony, so maybe nobody. But Clara’s going to be my flower girl—she’s had plenty of practice. And we’re thinking of letting Bucket be the ring bearer, if we can be sure he’ll behave. Conner’s going to be Travis’s best man.”
“And what about decorations—things like flowers?”
“The church will be decorated for Christmas. Along with some pretty candles, that should be nice enough. And Francine is catering the reception in the social hall, so you know that’s going to be wonderful.”
Megan sat back in her chair as the wedding talk buzzed around her. In her mind, she pictured Conner, so handsome in his tux, standing next to his friend. Subtly, the dream image shifted. Conner was standing in the groom’s place now, watching with love in his eyes as she floated down the aisle toward him. Her long white veil drifting behind her . . . but it was far too soon for such imaginings.
Rousing herself from her fantasy, Megan glanced over at Katy. She was listening raptly to the wedding talk, her lovely blue eyes shining, her fingertips resting on the tiny lapis stone of the friendship ring Daniel had given her. She deserved to be happy and to be loved. So did Daniel. Maybe, in the months ahead, their dream of a wedding would come true.
For Maggie and Travis, this Christmas would be a time of joy. For Katy, and maybe for Megan herself, it would be a time of hope.
Christmastime and wedding time.
A time when anything could go wrong.
Chapter 11
To Megan’s secret relief, Maggie’s bridal shower didn’t include a toilet tissue wedding gown. Instead, Clara passed out sheets of pastel notepaper and pens while Tracy gave instructions. Each guest was to write a note with a bit of advice for the bride. When the notes were handed in, Maggie would read them out loud. The notes would be anonymous. Advice could be funny, serious, even a bit naughty, as long as it was fit for the bride to read.
Megan glanced around the circle of women. Some, mostly the married ones, were writing eagerly, smiling to themselves as they scribbled. Others, like Megan, appeared to be at a loss. What kind of advice could you give a bride if you’d never been married yourself? She tried to imagine what it would be like, waking up in the morning to look into a pair of sleepy Texas bluebonnet eyes.
Why blue? What am I thinking?
Why did the face on the pillow next to hers keep materializing into Conner’s? She changed the mental image. This time, she was waking up first, her gaze caressing his sleeping face, eyelashes lying golden against his tanned cheeks, stubble shadowing his stubborn jaw.
She gave in to the fantasy. Maybe Conner would never be hers, but she could dream.
Without taking time to analyze her thoughts, she began to write.
At the end often minutes, Clara gathered up the pages, slipped them into a folder with a flowered cover, and presented them to Maggie.
“Now let’s see if our bride can read these without blushing,” Tracy teased. “With help, she might even be able to guess the writer.”
This was something new. The notes were supposed to be anonymous, weren’t they? Had the game changed?
The notepaper had come in a rainbow assortment of colors. Megan’s had been yellow. But she was already regretting what she’d written. It was too personal, too revealing to be shared, let alone have herself unmasked as the writer.
The first page was pink. “Here goes.” Maggie slipped on her glasses. “‘Love each other.’ I’ll bet I know who wrote this one.” She smiled at Katy, who was already blushing and giggling. “That’s the best advice ever.”
The next page was yellow. Megan shrank into her chair, but the note wasn’t hers. “ ‘Learn to laugh. It’s the only way to survive.’” After a few guesses, one of the older women confessed.
The next page was blue. “‘Sexy lingerie is always a great idea. Red and black are the best colors to get a man’s attention. And it doesn’t hurt to put a dab of perfume here and there. You’ll know where, honey.’” Maggie chuckled. “Francine, you naughty girl! That sounds just like you!”