“You got my text?” Quinn sighed.
Nodding, Paxton looked at his watch. “We were on our way over anyhow. Figured they should be here any minute and the last thing we need—”
“Is to tick Mom off,” coming through the open doorway, Owen finished the sentence for his brother.
For a few moments they all stood there, looking at each other, no doubt similar thoughts running through their minds—was their mother going to screw this wedding up or play nice? No time to debate it, the rumble of a large pick up could be heard approaching.
Straightening their backs, Morgan was the first to speak. “Showtime.”
“I have to run,” he whispered to Nicole, who stood between him and Morgan.
Her smile looked so fragile as she nodded at him. The concern reflected in her eyes, along with something that looked an awful lot like love, almost made his knees buckle. He desperately wanted to pull her into his arms and find out if he was imagining things, but now was not the time. His five siblings had already walked out the door and turned toward the B&B.
Hurrying to catch up, the truck and the brothers arrived at the B&B at pretty much the same time. To look at them, all of the brothers smiling at the truck rolling to a stop, no one would know that they were more nervous than a long tailed cat in a room full of rockers.
Patrick Farraday hopped out of his truck and quickly circled the hood to open the door for his wife. His mom gave her husband a forced smile with a soft-spokenthank you. To his credit, their father smiled back and gave her a gentle kiss on the lips. To anyone watching this was the sight of a happy family reunion. Only time would tell.
Taking one step forward, his mother looked up and down the street, then seemed to study the former brothel. “Cute.”
Okay. Not a gush of emotion, but not bad either. Morgan was the first to step into her space and give her a big hug. “Good to have you here, Mom.”
She patted her son’s back a long moment before letting go. Her gaze darted around again.
“Valerie should be here soon,” Morgan offered quickly.
“Yes,” Owen nodded, “the rest of the wives will be joining us for dinner. Except Eloise. She, of course, has to be in the kitchen.”
“I see.” His mother held a stiff smile. “Anyone else coming?”
“Just us for tonight,” Paxton offered quickly.
And as if she heard the last matching number on a winning lottery ticket, an earnest smiled bloomed quickly, and eyes twinkled with delight. “You boys look good together.” For the next few minutes hugs and compliments were passed around like champagne on New Year’s Eve.
As they walked up to the B&B, Sister and Sissy came running out, Sister leading the way. “Oh Mariah, it issogood to see you again.”
To their surprise, whatever grudge their mother had against the Texas Farradays, it didn’t extend to boutique owners. “Why, you two haven’t changed a lick.” She threw her arms around one sibling than the other. Almost forgetting her sons, she linked an arm with each sister and marched forward. “I can’t wait to see what my boys have done to this town in person.”
“Did you expect that?” Owen stared ahead at the backs of the three women entering the building.
Without taking a step, five of them stood staring ahead, jaws slightly slack, and shook their heads.
“Do you think the rest of the stay will go this well?” Paxton asked, no one making a move.
A suitcase in each hand, their dad walked past them, slowing his pace and leaning into the brothers. “Not a chance in hell.”
The sharp scent of fresh-cut pine filled the rear addition of the livery, a stark contrast to the musty, time-worn smell of the original structure. Nicole moved through the newly partitioned stalls, her boots scuffing against the smooth concrete floor. Her mind was a map of measurements and tolerances, a direct result of a decade spent making sure things fit exactly where they were supposed to.
Stopping at Duke’s stall, the animal seemed oddly restless and kept pawing at the ground, almost rocking his weight. She paused to give the gorgeous animal a few scratches along his jaw. “Too much commotion for you?” Not sure what had the horse behaving oddly—at least what she thought was odd—she reached out and gave the heavy gate a firm shake. The wood didn’t just rattle; it groaned. Frowning, she crouched down to inspect the mounting brackets George had installed earlier in the day. Instead of the three-inch structural screws required for a weight-bearing gate, the silver heads of standard deck screws winked back at her. They were too thin, too brittle, and entirely too short to reach the heart of the support post. Pushing to her feet, she heaved a deep sigh and rubbed at Duke’s flanks, pleased when he stopped moving. “Don’t you worry, fella. We’re going to fix this right. Just do me a favor. Don’t get spooked and kick or the darn thing might fall right off its hinges.”
Grabbing a treat from a nearby bucket, she gave one to Duke, murmured a few more words to the horse, then closing the gate behind her, squatted down one more time for a closer look at the screws. George sauntered up next to her. His thumb hooked into a pants’ pocket, he looked down at her, a smear of grease across his chin. “What’s the problem now, Nicole? I’m on a schedule. Valerie wants these bays finished and looking perfect before the cameras roll tomorrow morning.”
“Cutting it a bit close, aren’t you?” Nicole straightened, her jaw set with a quiet, professional resolve. “You used the wrong screws. If either of those massive horses decides to lean their weight against this gate, the heads are going to snap.”
George let out a short, dry snort and shook his head. He looked at the gate, then back to her with a slow, condescending tilt of his head. “I’ve been framing since you were in grade school, honey. A dozen screws driven at an angle will hold more weight than a horse can throw at it.”
“Not these screws.” Nicole pointed to the box of discarded fasteners on his workbench. “You might as well have used sheetrock screws for all the good those will do you.”
“Why don’t you just mind your own business? You go play with your pretty little toys.”
