I stared at my laptop screen, at the new file labeled “Greene-Turner Wedding,” and felt a mix of excitement and dread settle in my stomach. Planning a wedding in rural Texas was going to be challenging, sure. But I’d pulled off celebrity weddings, last-minute venue changes, and once even coordinated a ceremony during a nor’easter. I could handle some cowboys and tumbleweeds.
At least, that’s what I told myself as I poured another glass of wine.
What the hell had I gotten myself into?
Chapter 2
Xavier
It was raining when the plane touched down in Amarillo, it was raining when I rented the SUV, and it wasstillraining when I finally saw the sign stating that I wasEntering Sagebrush. Population? Four thousand cows, sixteen hundred tumbleweeds, and a fucking partridge in a pear tree.
Sagebrush didn’t look much different than it had during my December visit. The streets were still mostly empty, the entire town was about a half a mile long, and nothing had been updated since the fifties. However, things were a bit greener now, so that was a plus.
My earlier trip to Sagebrush had barely given me a glimpse of the place. I’d flown in late one night and didn’t get into town until nearly midnight. Lucas put me up in the main house, and we had breakfast in the morning before touring the ranch. After talking about the wedding for a couple of hours, which was all I had time for, I headed back to the airport to catch a flight back to New York. Part of me wondered why I’d bothered to make the trip at all.
And now that I was seeing Sagebrush at a slower pace and in the daylight… well, it didn’t give me a lot of hope. Dreary,decrepit, anddefinitelyvintage. But I guess Lucas was right. It wasn’tdusty.
I drove slowly down Main Street, which was literally the only street that mattered, squinting through the rain-streaked windshield. A hardware store. A post office that looked like it might collapse if someone sneezed too hard. Dolly’s Diner, with its neon sign flickering in the gray afternoon light. A feed store. And that was basically it.
No boutiques. No wine bars. No artisanal anything.
I’d known what I was getting into, theoretically. But theory and practice were two very different things, and right now practice was looking pretty fucking bleak.
My phone buzzed in the cupholder. Lucas, probably wondering where I was. I’d texted him when I landed, but that was over an hour ago. The drive from Amarillo had taken longer than expected—turns out GPS doesn’t account for torrential downpours and me driving like a terrified grandmother on unfamiliar country roads.
I grabbed the phone at a red light. Well, the only traffic light in town, and it was probably more decorative than functional given that I hadn’t seen another car in ten minutes.
Me: Almost there. Did Texas order this weather special for my arrival?
His response came immediately.
Lucas: Mother Nature’s way of welcoming you. The creek’s going to be gorgeous for photos though. Turn left at the feed store, ranch is 3 miles out
Left at the feed store. Of course. Because actual street names would be too civilized. Maybe I should’ve gotten a cow navigator.
I followed his directions, leaving behind what little civilization Sagebrush had to offer. The road turned from cracked asphalt to gravel, and my rental SUV bumped along through puddles that looked deep enough to require a boat. Rainhammered against the roof, and I white-knuckled the steering wheel, wondering if this was how people died in rural Texas—drowned in a ditch somewhere between nowhere and nothing.
But then the landscape opened up, and even through the rain, I had to admit it was... not terrible. Rolling hills stretched out on either side, covered in that impossibly green grass Lucas had mentioned. Mesquite trees dotted the pastures, their branches dark against the gray sky. And in the distance, I could see the ranch. It was a sprawling collection of buildings that looked far more impressive than I’d remembered from my brief December visit.
The main house was a large, two-story structure with a wraparound porch and actual architectural character. Not my style, obviously, but I could appreciate the craftsmanship. To the left were several new cabins arranged in a semi-circle, each one looking cozy and well-maintained. To the right was what had to be the barn, massive and red with a fresh coat of paint. It was exactly what you’d picture when someone said, “Texas ranch.”
I pulled up the long driveway and killed the engine, staring out at the property. This was going to be home for the next month. Four weeks of fresh air and open spaces and absolutely nothing to do after sunset. Or before, really.
The front door of the main house burst open, and Lucas came sprinting out into the rain, arms waving like I might somehow miss him. I couldn’t help but smile as I watched him run toward the car, his dark hair already plastered to his forehead, that ridiculous grin on his face that I’d missed more than I wanted to admit.
I grabbed my jacket and braced myself before opening the door. The rain hit me immediately, cold and relentless, soaking through my clothes in seconds.
“Xavier!” Lucas crashed into me with a hug that nearly knocked me over, not caring that we were both getting drenched. “You made it!”
“Barely,” I shouted over the downpour, hugging him back fiercely. “This fucking weather, Lucas. Is this normal?”
“Spring storms!” He pulled back, still grinning. “Come on, let’s get you inside before you melt.”
“I don’t melt, I just get very expensive water damage,” I said, but I was already following him toward the porch.
We made it up the steps and under the cover of the wrap-around porch, both of us dripping puddles onto the wood. I pushed my soaked hair back from my face and looked at my best friend,reallylooked at him for the first time in months. He looked good. Better than good, actually. There was something different about him, something settled and content that I’d never seen during our New York days.
“You look happy,” I said, and meant it.
